#Stranger Things x Female Reader

[marrziy]

RAIO-X: Stranger Things

★: Hopper, Steve, Jonathan, Billy, Eddie e Enzo.

+18 leitores & leitoras.

Nenhum pouco de acordo com os imagines; neles, eu descrevo como convém. Aqui são apenas achismos meus, baseados no que aparenta para mim (com aquela dose de licença poética, pois amo um exagero).

★: Jim Hopper

24 cm — não se gaba, mas reconhece o colosso entre as pernas e tem orgulho dele.

Grossura: muito acima da média.

Do tipo que arromba e impressiona quando alojado dentro de algum buraco. Encaixado numa buceta, força os lábios tão longe que o inchaço é quase imediato. Já atolado num cuzinho, alarga tanto que deixa as bordas vermelhas e o formato da própria circunferência como lembrança.

Balança/Curvatura: reto e muito pesado.

Ao pulsar, é alavancado, mas, devido ao peso, nunca permanece de pé. Para colocar na boca, é necessário guiá-lo com as mãos até os lábios ou curvar-se perante a glande.

Cor: alguns tons mais escuros que a pele; fica mais aparente quando está mole. A cabecinha é rosada.

Veias: grossas e de um azul visível na base, mas afinam no caminho, deixando de protuberar no comprimento.

Glande: quando mole, a ponta é completamente coberta pelo prepúcio; quando duro, é exibida até a metade. Se forçada durante a masturbação ou penetração, a cabecinha é totalmente exposta. O pré-sêmen acumulado costuma estalar, produzindo um som molhado no ritmo da movimentação.

Pau babão. No auge da dureza, vaza muito. Você saberá que é o mais gostoso/a do recinto aos olhos dele se conseguir deixá-lo de farda molhada, sendo que cueca úmida é o padrão para o chefe de polícia.

Pelos: Não liga muito para eles (diferente do bigode). Raramente depila a virilha e, quando o faz, é com aparador barato, cuja eficiência não é lá grande coisa.

Bolas: Pesadas e rechonchudas; espancadoras de quadril. Poluição sonora garantida caso o sexo seja bruto.

Porra: Goza até transbordar.

Sêmen branco, salgado, espesso e mil por cento fértil. Jorros pouco potentes, mas o esperma é abundante e ininterrupto; se Jim atinge o ápice, são uma ou duas sequências de jatos grossos até secar, sem pausas. Caso você tenha útero e não queira engravidar, camisinha ultra-resistente já!

★: Steve Harrington

19.5 cm — longe das réguas, ele arredonda para 20.

Grossura: na média.

O pau de Steve marca. Mesmo amolecido, é volumoso, e, dependendo da calça, dificilmente passará despercebido. Há sempre um caroço esticando o tecido; é impossível sentar no colo dele sem sentir. Steve gosta quando reparam e faz questão de acompanhar o olhar baixo de quem nota.

Balança/Curvatura: reto e um tanto pesado.

Não é suave ao ponto de bater no abdômen, nem denso o suficiente para alcançar as coxas. Um cacete perfeitamente posicionado para meter.

Cor: comprimento pouco escuro, não chegando a inibir o vermelho da excitação. A glande segue a cor, em uma tonalidade levemente mais forte.

Veias: finas e pouco marcadas.

Glande: torneira humana! Escorre pré-sêmen pra caralho sob pressão e umedece da ponta às bolas. É muito sensível na dureza; o simples roçar da cueca deixa o Harrington eriçado. Tem prepúcio, mas a pele só cobre a ponta por influência, quando Steve se movimenta ou quando é estimulado.

Pelos: por vontade de estar liso, nunca beirou uma lâmina, mas, para pegar mulher, caso a moça prefira, ele se dispõe a ficar com a virilha macia. Se você for um cara que quer mamar uma piroca lisinha: bye bye. Ele só move um dedo para agradar homem caso esteja extremamente apaixonado ou se o cara fizer muito o tipo dele.

Bolas: tamanho padrão. Boas de colocar na boca, pois não se espalham sem precedentes, e as chances de relar nos dentes são baixas. Steve as posiciona para cima na calça, aparentando ter mais conteúdo do que realmente tem lá dentro.

Porra: não desperdiça um Steve Júnior sequer.

Esperma líquido e transparente, de um amargor quase imperceptível, mas notável. Goza cargas fortes que vão fundo no interior de quem ele fode e raramente transborda, pois ele não deixa escorrer. Gosta de se despedir sabendo que deixou sua semente plantada nas entranhas de alguém.

★: Jonathan Byers

16 cm — brisado, já refletiu sobre ter mais saco que pinto.

Grossura: ligeiramente acima da média.

Cacete bastante responsivo, que vibra entre as paredes quentinhas de uma boceta e pulsa em tom de ameaça precoce no aperto de uma bunda. Muito enérgico e apressado, sem tempo para tirar a roupa!

Balança/Curvatura: maneiro e levemente curvado para cima. Super erguido, batendo no abdômen ao ser liberto. Pau fácil de manusear.

Cor: o comprimento apresenta uma tonalidade clara de pêssego, enquanto a ponta esbanja um rosa forte.

Veias: azuis, visíveis e pouco protuberantes.

Glande: metade superior de um coração, com globos perfeitos. Sem capuz e vagamente dobrada para cima. Gotas peroladas escorrem moderadamente da fenda, deixando-a brilhosa numa nota cativante de rosa. Sensibilidade alta.

Pelos: gosta da sensação de estar liso, mas não faz tanta questão de estar. Se tiver ânimo para gastar mais tempo no banho ou antes de sair com alguém, caso preveja uma foda, provavelmente depilará a virilha. Acontece, no máximo, duas vezes ao mês.

Bolas: Caídas, pesadas e espaçosas; em abundância para qualquer esporte. Acumulam muito, e, se Jonathan passa tempo demais sem transar, na hora de afogar o ganso, afogará no próprio gozo dentro do buraco que acabou de inundar. Gosta de meter devagarinho para sentir-se selando o interior da pessoa, com a pressão das bolas na entrada que alarga.

Porra: orgasmo teatral.

Sêmen branco, um pouco salgado e líquido. Jatos potentes entre pausas dramáticas; a primeira erupção vem abundante, e as demais enfraquecem com vagareza. Enquanto goza, Jonathan continua metendo, forte e erraticamente, errando o buraco em algumas investidas devido à euforia que o envolve, desperdiçando cargas no chão ou entre as coxas de quem está comendo. Fica mais agitado a cada jorrada e não tem previsão de quando o saco parará de contrair e lançar esperma.

★: Billy Hargrove

18 cm — ele adora a circunferência farta que carrega no meio das pernas.

Grossura: muito acima da média.

Billy gosta de foder podendo intercalar a atenção entre seu pau entrando e as expressões que são dadas a ele. Um caralho grosso da raíz a ponta, que provoca quando visto e desafia limites quando inserido, sempre esticando entradinhas até não poder mais e, para o divertimento do loiro, arrancando as mais exageradas e variadas reações dos alegremente arrependidos que caem em seu colo.

Pobrezinho... Nunca encontrou alguém capaz de levá-lo inteiramente na boca. Até mãos grandes o suficiente para circundá-lo são difíceis de achar.

Balança/Curvatura: pesado e reto. Pau que pende um pouco para baixo, mas não a ponto de precisar ser conduzido. É denso demais para pulsar intensamente, mas compensa ao aparentar estar num latejar pausado, constante no mais forte dos ápices.

Cor: comprimento rosa-quente, um bocado mais escuro que o tom predominante no corpo. Ponta vermelha.

Veias: não se percebe o azul sob a pele, mas são volumosas, e pelo menos duas delas se destacam nas laterais, estendidas da base até o corte. Algumas protuberam na virilha.

Glande: antes do orgasmo, libera pouquíssimo pré-sêmen para ajudar no manuseio; nem as células do filho da puta facilitam a vida de quem o cerca. Razoavelmente sensível, sem prepúcio e muito inchada na dureza.

Pelos: nessa piroca não! Billy se depila constantemente; é quase impossível encontrar um pentelho crescido na região. Talvez tope com alguns em fase de crescimento poucos dias após o aparo, mas nunca no auge. Billy não odeia os fiozinhos, mas prefere em infinitas vidas a pele sem eles.

Bolas: sempre cheias e ansiosas para gastar. O tamanho é o mesmo com ou sem tesão, e até no frio a mudança é mínima. Costumam marcar em calças justas; Billy constantemente verifica se elas não estão divididas pela costura do jeans.

Porra: trava o quadril e só sai quando está satisfeito.

Gozo quente, branco e relativamente transparente. Billy libera cargas espessas, recheando sem miséria e acalentando o interior que recém espancou. Permanece um bom tempo fincado até a virilha, latejando, enchendo, e só retorna o caminho ao ser empurrado para fora pela própria essência, sempre ansioso para vê-la vazar borbulhando de uma bordinha inchada e pulsante.

★: Eddie Munson

21 cm — ele genuinamente queria ser menos pauzudo; considera a própria pica uma vadia inconveniente.

Grossura: ligeiramente acima da média.

Duro, costuma escapar pelo cós da calça. Eddie até evita usar shorts fora de casa e, se usa, são bem grandes, para evitar que a cabecinha escape pela barra da perna. Cuecas ajudam, mas Eddie não gosta muito de usá-las. Ele se excita facilmente e raramente se vê meia-bomba, endurecendo sempre até o pico, pulsando tanto na calça que chega a doer.

A excitação é incômoda; deixa o Munson extremamente rijo, jurando poder demolir uma casa inteira usando o pau como marreta. Ele geralmente se perde durante o sexo, pulsando violentamente e metendo brutalmente, querendo gozar mais do que tudo.

Balança/Curvatura: reto e muito leve.

Apesar do tamanho, o pau de Eddie não pesa quase nada e é bastante flexível, apontado para frente não devido à gravidade, mas, sim, por ser a posição natural de seu pênis. Quando livre da cueca, bate no abdômen, ultrapassando a altura do umbigo. Não possui prepúcio.

Cor: imita o tom da pele, ou seja, claro que só. O vermelho da cabecinha escorre da ponta, colorindo parte do comprimento abaixo dela.

Veias: pouquíssimo aparentes.

Glande: pouco responsiva no geral, mas uma grande catalisadora de tudo que é bom durante o clímax.

Pelos: quando o pensamento de apará-los surge, "foda-se" é a resposta mental programada. Eddie tem preguiça de se depilar, costuma desistir antes mesmo de tocar no aparador e fica genuinamente frustrado com a velocidade com que os pelos crescem. Tem queda por ficar lisinho antes de usar o pau; só um rabo de shortinho é capaz de fazê-lo tirar o lacre da Gillette.

Bolas: de pouca presença, um tanto ofuscadas pelo mastro comprido, mas se fazem audíveis na transa ao se chocarem contra o quadril alheio.

Porra: todo clímax é o melhor que já teve.

Viscosa, com pouco sabor e muito grudenta, podendo vir branca ou transparente. Graças aos efeitos potentes acoplados ao tesão, Eddie explode, como se cada fibra do corpo acompanhasse seu orgasmo; o prazer que sente é alucinante. Ele urra, com as bolas convulsionando e o comprimento palpitando, despejando uma carga tão farta e copiosa que não seria surpresa caso uma poça de porra se formasse sobre a cama, sofá, chão, mesa ou bancada.

★: Dmitri Antonov

20 cm — Enzo é amigo da própria peça e, se conseguir brecha para falar sobre o tamanho, ele falará.

Grossura: ligeiramente acima média.

Adora foder vestido. Em um top 10 orgasmos, pelo menos cinco seriam com ele de pica marcada na cueca ou na calça, esfregando o volume entre as pernas de alguém, e nos outros cinco, apenas com o zíper aberto e o pau para fora, atolado num buraquinho apertado.

Dmitri é apaixonado por atingir o clímax sob limites. Sente que alcança o máximo possível do celeste em vida ao afogar uma buceta em esperma usando somente a cabeça do pau, ou ao ser cavalgado de forma tortuosamente lenta por uma bunda farta, quase colapsando enquanto é impedido de ditar o próprio ritmo e de meter até às bolas.

Balança/Curvatura: um pouco pesado e bastante educado, sempre apontando a direção ➜ ➜ ➜

Levemente curvado para o lado e denso o suficiente para que o impacto faça tremer, ele ama chocar e esfregar na pele. É um homem que se entretém batendo e roçando o pau no rosto do parceiro/a. Para ele, foder entre as coxas ou os peitos, e deslizar sobre uma barriguinha quente, é mais divertido do que a penetração em si.

Cor: segue a coloração da pele, mas em tons mais escuros. O mesmo vale para a ponta, com a adição do rubro irritadiço característico da excitação.

Veias: algumas linhas de cor visíveis, mas é, majoritariamente, um pau liso.

Glande: um cogumelo rechonchudo muito sensível, capaz de arrancar dele choramingos manhosos e gemidos roucos. Libera bastante pré-sêmen, e o prepúcio, sob estímulo, não cobre mais que metade da ponta.

Pelos: gosta do meio termo. Muito o desagrada, mas também detesta a sensação da pele pura, sem nada áspero para equilibrar.

Bolas: constantemente inchadas e perfeitamente cabíveis na mão, boas de apertar. Enzo ama ter seu pau mimado; é óbvio que ele não irá dispensar uma carícia nas bolas.

Porra: mais para fora do que para dentro.

Esperma abrasador, um alívio em dias frios. Branco e muito líquido, vindo em esguichos fortes e sequenciais. Goza um pouco rápido, mas o lance dele é atingir vários clímaces e se derramar em diferentes partes do corpo. Qualquer pedaço de pele, dos pés à cabeça, é válido. Leita perto das beiras para ver a porra vazar e cobrir a entrada, empurrando com tudo para dentro em seguida, alojando o esperma fundo nas entranhas. Gosta de capotar abraçado, com os corpos grudentos.

Acho que coloquei coisa demais, não sei até onde ficou interessante 😬, mas e aí, em qual dessas pikas vcs sentariam? Queria ir quicando de uma pra outra aff 😮‍💨

—★💋📂: HOT masterlist

—★🎃📂: HORROR masterlist

[robinsno1lesbian]

𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 - 𝐑.𝐁.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: this doesn’t really need a summary but, for context, find my cowgirl robin fanfic here <3

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ mature content! (MDNI), mention of alcohol, oral sex, vaginal fingering, strap-on sex, spit kink??, makeshift handcuffs, semi-public sex, let me know if i missed anything!

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: once again: save a horse, ride robin buckley. we are so back with some of my feral cowgirl robin thoughts. it’s been a hot minute but here we are! also: it’s @aylasology birthday!! happy birthday ayla, here are some cowgirl!robin thoughts fy! <3<3

𖤓 cowgirl!robin whose voice you’re obsessed with: low, raspy and with a thick southern accent. the way she will whisper her filthiest fantasies to you while she’s knuckle deep inside you? the way you sometimes tune out during casual conversation, losing track of what she’s saying just because of the sound of her voice?

𖤓 cowgirl!robin who can’t stop staring at you whenever she helps you get on a horse, her strong hands supporting you by holding your waist.

𖤓 cowgirl!robin who praises you in that same raspy voice. “good girl”, “just like that”, “hmm, such a good job”

𖤓 cowgirl!robin who can’t keep her hands off of you and your body. whether it’s holding your hand, grabbing your hips or ass, or a rapping an arm around your shoulder.

𖤓 cowgirl!robin who leaves visible marks on your body so everyone knows you’re hers.

𖤓 cowgirl!robin who hugs you from behind and kisses your neck before shoving a hand down your pants.

𖤓 cowgirl!robin who takes you to one of the local bars in the warm summer evenings. who buys you drinks all night, who watches you try to remain on the mechanical bull while wearing one of her hats. who drags you into the bathroom stall and fucks you up against the wall right there or makes you ride her thigh.

𖤓 cowgirl!robin who loves to have your company while she’s working. and definitely not because of the way your eyes trace the shape of her outline, or because you can’t stop yourself from stroking her sweat stained muscles…

(𖤓 cowgirl!robin who does look a little too good whenever she’s working: with her flexed muscles, and stained body, panting heavily.)

𖤓 cowgirl!robin who wears a heavy belt almost all day. comes in handy when you can’t seem to keep your hands to yourself: she can easily tie you to the bed, wrap the leather belt around your wrists and have her way with you until you’re and overstimulated mess. “oh is that too much? too much when i touch you there? oh no? you want more? then why are you grinding against my hand like that, pretty girl?”

𖤓 cowgirl!robin who has a large collection of cowboy boots that you are obsessed with. especially ever since you were too impatient for her to finish work, so she made you get off on them. “such a desperate slut. tsk, tsk, tsk…well if you want it so badly” and, just like that, you found yourself on your knees for her, rutting against her boot. “come on, be a good girl and get yourself off for me”

𖤓 cowgirl!robin who gives you a necklace with a silver “R” charm. she loves how it looks on you, how it sits right between your collar bones, how it bounces when you’re riding her…

𖤓 speaking of which: riding cowgirl!robin in reversed cowgirl style, with your hands tied behind your back???? her hands holding your hips to guide you???

𖤓 cowgirl!robin who loves to see you in her clothes, whether it’s her boots, her flannels, her hats etc. she loves to wake up to you in nothing but one of those oversized shirts, buttons undone and your chest on display for her.

𖤓 cowgirl!robin who takes you on late night drives in her truck that end up on her backseat, with her head buried between your thighs.

𖤓 cowgirl!robin who makes you ride her strap while she shows you how to work the tractor. (“something wrong sugar? you’ve been real quiet…”)

𖤓 surprising cowgirl!robin in nothing but a set of lingerie and her hat after a long day of work???

𖤓 cowgirl!robin who loves nothing more than to see you choke on her strap. she loves the way you drool on it, the way your eyes roll back in your head when she pushes it just a little bit further down your throat. “god yes. fuck, look at you: taking it so well.”

𖤓 cowgirl!robin spitting on your cunt while she fucks it, letting her slick spit drip between your folds, using her fingers to push it inside.

𖤓 cowgirl!robin who loves to hear you beg for it. literally every chance she can get to hear your pretty voice, begging her to fuck you, begging her to take you just a little harder, begging for your release.

𖤓 cowgirl!robin who is obsessed with your breasts. whether it’s sucking them while she’s fucking you or grabbing them with one hand while the other is shoved down your underwear.

𓃗𐚁🏜𖤓⋆｡° ✮

[on-my-contrarian-sh1t]

false god: part one || s.h. x fem!reader

A/N: this was written a year ago and i just found it so yea! not proofread either TWS: cursing

the hot sun felt like it was searing into your skin, the stifling air felt like a weighted blanket on a warm night. your old, red, tattered sunglasses weren’t helping much either. you had a loose t-shirt on and jean shorts. your shirt was old, stained, and ripped in some places so you wore a thin tank top underneath. your book, which was now hot, rested on your leg as you sat in a criss-cross position on your lawn chair. you were sitting by your backyard fence, facing the vast extent of trees that were scattered next to your house. the soft rustling of leaves brought you out of your book and back to reality.

you set your feet on the ground, gently sliding them into your worn down sandals before leaning forward to peer at who was making their way back to your hiding place.

to your obvious surprise, steve harrington walking over, muttering something under his breath and shaking his head. his hand was shielding his eyes from the sun despite the black ray-bans adorning his face. he was in a loose t-shirt and long jeans. despite the heat, he didn’t look sweaty.

as soon as the brunette looked up, a startled look washed over his face, stopping dead in his tracks, and his hand falling down to his side.

“oh,” was all he said. “sorry. didn’t mean to interrupt what you were doing.”

you gave him a thin, tight-lipped smile. it was genuine and friendly but laced with confusion and wariness. “you’re fine. can i help you?”

“actually yes,” replied steve. you could see the exact moment where his heart dropped. “i mean, as long as you’re not busy.”

you shook your head. you slid your homemade bookmark into your book, stood up, and set the book on your chair. you leaned back, stretching your tight back. “no, of course not. i was just reading. what’s up?”

“d’you know who dustin henderson is?” asked steve hesitantly. something was in his voice that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. a tone, or feeling of some sort. the closest thing you could describe it as would be embarrassment.

“yeah, ’course i do,” you answered, nodding. “short, curly hair, wildly smart?”

steve nodded. “i’m kind of his babysitter. he told me to meet me behind this house at the end of his street. i was wondering if you possibly saw him.”

“no, sorry,” you responded, bringing your hand up to shield your eyes from the sun. you chewed at your bottom lip, debating your next move. you had heard steve harrington changed – for the better – but you still didn’t quite trust him. he seemed nice enough but you couldn’t help but wonder if it was all a trap to make a fool of you. you had seen your friends getting picked on firsthand by king steve. it had been a year or two since you and steve graduated high school and ever since he left, you had heard nothin’-but-nice things about him. however, he seemed genuine and you wanted to help him. it didn’t help that he had a massive growth spurt since high school – a good one at that – but you pushed that silly thought out of your mind. “i can help you,” you offered before you could stop yourself. “look for dustin. i could help you look for him. he’s my neighbor, i’ve seen him go back there a million times. i even helped him sneak through after my dad yelled at him for crossing over our lawn to do illegal shenanigans – they were just testing a science project.”

steve nodded and gave you a smile. it was small, fleeting, and probably meant nothing but you couldn’t stop your heart from fluttering. you attempted to reciprocate the gesture but steve was already making his way through the shrubbery beside your house.

the trees and bushes were thick. you got scratched by several branches and you heard scurrying – which you prayed was nothing more than a stray – and the mosquitos were everywhere.

“if you don’t mind me asking,” you began, wiping the sweat from your forehead. the sun was more bearable simply because of the trees blocking out some of the light. “why’d dustin ask you to meet him in the middle of the forest?”

“i dunno,” mumbled steve honestly. “he’s really into dungeons and dino– what’s the name of the game?”

“dungeons and dragons?” you offered patiently, biting back a laugh.

“that’s the one,” said steve, pointing at you whilst nodding. he ran his fingers through his hair before continuing. “he always does shit to harass me. i swear he thinks of me as a servant and not a young adult. i’m pretty sure he’s using me to drive him places.”

“not bad. he’s got his priorities in order,” you returned, shrugging before laughing softly.

steve laughed too before giving you a quiet, “yep.”

the silence that followed after your small exchange was peaceful and not at all awkward like you had expected.

after a few minutes of aimlessly walking, steve worked up the courage to ask about the book you were reading.

“what was that book you were reading?” steve asked, looking over at you. for a split second, the boy thought you went a little pink. it could’ve been the unbearable heat or maybe, just maybe, you really blushed. whatever it was, it went as quickly as it came.

you smiled. this is too good to be true, you thought to yourself. steve harrington asking about me and my life? insane. “it was little women,” you replied. “have you read it?”

“i can’t say i’ve had the pleasure,” said steve, looking thoughtful. you couldn’t help but notice how the ends of his hair were damp from sweat and how his – now retired due to fogging up – sunglasses were perched on the top of his head. “’s it good?”

“it’s one of the best books you’ll ever read, i can guarantee you,” you answered confidently. it was the first time during your little excursion with steve that you actually felt yourself. you felt at home. it felt normal to be trekking through the woods with the steve harrington.

“oh is it?” quipped steve, grinning at your confidence.

“’course, i don’t lie about books, how low of a person do you think i am?” you demanded jokingly. you pushed your hair out of your face as well as the strands that were glued to your forehead by the sweat. “what books do you read?”

“you want me to be honest?”

“’course i do.”

“i’m not much of a reader,” admitted steve, looking embarrassed and sheepish. “i mean, i know how to read – of course i do–” why are you getting so flustered? demanded steve in his head. scolding himself, he regained his composure. “i read occasionally but it’s not a hobby of mine.”

you smiled through a lip bite, taking note of how flustered steve looked. “alright, that’s fine.” it could’ve been the sweltering heat that made you so confident, or the fact that you were holding a normal, respectable conversation with steve but you continued. “if i leant you my copy of little women would you read it? be honest, it’s fine if you say no.”

“y/n, do you realize how sweet that is?” asked steve, still in shock that you said that. it was clear that your books were your prized possessions and steve was clearly not a “book guy” so he found it terribly kind that you were lending a stranger one of your prized possessions.

you were taken aback by the sudden rawness of the conversation. “i– um– it’s not that serious, really,” you mumbled, looking down and shrugging awkwardly.

“i dunno, it was really nice though,” chided steve, his tone gentle but certainly not patronizing.

“thanks.”

the two of you hiked around for a while afterwards until steve had the brilliant idea to just go skull rock and hope someone was there. when you and steve reached skull rock, you saw a small group of boys talking animatedly.

you beamed at steve and he grinned back. steve was beginning to feel warm on the back of his neck but it wasn’t because of his excess of hair, or the heat.

“henderson!” called steve, waving his arms as the two of you stepped under the shrubbery surrounding the stone sculpture. you could see dustin sighing.

“steve,” called back dustin, exasperated. “what the hell took you so long?” mike nodded in agreement, mirroring the exasperated look. will just shrugged and shook his head and lucas did the same.

“well maybe it’s ’cause you four shitheads – that’s excluding will and lucas – gave me wrong information!” snapped steve, placing his hands on his hips maternally. lucas smirked and nudged will who was smiling.

you finally made your way through the bush. “hi guys,” you announced, smiling and giving a small wave. “alright, i’ll leave you boys to it. bye steve, bye guys!” you made your way to leave.

“hey, wait!” exclaimed steve, spinning around. “you helped me find them, you can stay.”

“steve, you found them,” you contradicted, shaking your head. “i was just there for... emotional support.”

“oh, you’re saying i’m emotionally unstable?” asked steve, a small, swift smile playing across his lips which you reciprocated. if you were to look at the boys, you would’ve seen them all wiggling their eyebrows and each other and biting back laughter.

“maybe i am,” you quipped, shrugging. steve placed a hand on his chest in faux offense.

“y’know, i thought we were really bonding–”

“zip it, harrington, i’ll stay,” you interrupted and walking closer to steve and the kids. “hey dustin.” you nodded acknowledgements to the other boys. you saw them all the time with your neighbor but you never actually met them.

“so, are you two...?” asked lucas slowly.

“oh no!” both of you exclaimed in unison, going slightly pink. “no, it’s nothing like that,” you continued. you paused. “he’s not even my type.”

steve nodded vigorously in agreement, despite his heart dropping. “yeah, like you’re not even close to what my type is, no offense.”

your heart fell a little. “yeah, right back at you.”

dustin’s lips were in a thin line, nodding his head and rocking back and forth on his heels with what appeared to be mockery and sarcasm. “yep, sure. that’s what you said about robin, right? and didn’t you tell me that you felt the same way about nancy at first?” dustin looked at you a mischievous smirk on his face. “y’know, you never struck me as a liar, y/n, but if you are fibbing, just know that steve is probably already in love with–”

“dustin, keep talking, will you?” butt in steve, shaking his head and rolling his eyes, his cheeks were a soft shade of pink.

steve nodded, listening closely as dustin animatedly explained a new dungeons and dragons concept. you had no idea what he was talking about and by the looks of steve’s face, you could tell he had no idea either.

after a little while, dustin and the gang were finally finished. “alright, should we walk back together?”

“sure,” you and steve said in agreement.

“henderson?” asked steve suddenly. “why’d you drag us into the woods to talk about dungeons and dragons?”

“correct that sentence, steve!” exclaimed dustin, beaming. “i dragged you into the woods to talk about dungeons and dragons. you were the one who dragged your girlfriend into the woods.”

“hey!” exclaimed steve, face-palming. “for the last time, y/n y/l/n is not my girlfriend! and if i had known you were in the middle of the fuckin’ woods, i wouldn’t have brought her.”

will shrugged and gave steve a kind smile. “i dunno, i think it’s romantic.” steve stared at the boy disbelievingly.

“keep saying that and only two people will be making it out of the woods and that will be me and y/n,” riposted steve. “assholes.”

“babysitter, huh?” you questioned, a smirk on your face. steve’s anger melted away and he smiled.

“yeah, well i’m really just their chauffeur, y’know?” steve answered. you laughed.

“’s nice,” you said, looking at steve, your face serious. “it’s nice how you care for them. despite you calling them derogatory names, you’re a great babysitter. i can see how much you care for them.”

“really?”

“really. you drove through an unfamiliar neighborhood, talked to a stranger, and trekked aimlessly through the woods all for them to explain one dungeons and dragons concept,” you said, ticking off each thing steve did on one of your fingers.

before steve could reply, mike yelled back to you and steve, “guys, we’re out.”

you stood on your tiptoes to get a look at the clearing that was behind underbrush only to see your house standing there. as you got closer you could see your once forgotten items scattered about near where you were sitting.

“alright guys,” you said as soon as the group emerged from the trees. “here’s my house. it was nice seeing everyone.” you nodded at dustin and his friends. “good luck with your game, ’kay? don’t cause too much trouble. don’t drive steve into insanity. g’bye!” the boys smiled and waved at you as they all walked away. you quickly noticed that steve had hung back.

“hi,” you said. “you gonna drive them home?”

“nah,” said steve, shaking his head. “lucas was saying something about a sleepover at dustin’s.”

“oh okay.” the two of you stared at each other awkwardly for a few seconds. the sun had went down a little bit, dipping behind your house and casting an orangey glow on everything. “can i get you something to drink? or to eat?”

“no,” said steve quickly, shaking his head. “thank you. i don’t wanna be a bother.”

you shook your head quickly. “no, no, you wouldn’t be a bother. not at all. my dad’s on a business trip for the week and my mom... well you’ve heard.”

“you sure?” asked steve hesitantly.

“of course, i can’t journey through the woods with someone and not invite them to dinner,” you joked, your eyes twinkling.

that got a smile from steve. “alright but i’m helping you cook.”

“fine,” you grumbled. you picked up your book as steve scooped up your lawn chair with ease. “no!” you exclaimed, shaking your head at steve. “stop it, you’re the guest. i got it.”'

“it’s not a problem really,” said steve hastily, following you into your garage. “plus, my grandmother would kill me and then herself out of shame if i didn’t.”

you laughed. “as would mine. i guess we have more in common than we thought.” steve let out a chuckle before folding up the chair against the wall.

“thanks,” you said as he stood with a flourish.

“anytime,” he replied immediately, shrugging as if it was nothing. you opened the door in your small garage that led to your house.

“welcome to casa de y/l/n,” you exclaimed. “’s really just me most of the time but legally, my father owns this house so i feel obligated to say y/l/n and not y/n.”

steve snorted. “another thing i can relate to. my parents are never home.”

“wow, maybe it’s a hawkins thing,” you suggested. you led steve into your home, giving him a tour starting in the living room and ending back in the front of the house.

“’s very nice,” complimented steve.

“thanks,” you said, walking into the kitchen, steve at your heels. “so, i have some food in the fridge and you can pick what we make, is that okay?”

“perfect.”

“what music do you like?” you asked suddenly as steve was exploring your refridgerator.

“i dunno. i like popular stuff – i’m not a metal guy,” he replied, looking thoughtfully at you.

you laughed as you exited the kitchen. “lemme guess, you have a metal loving friend?”

“well, not really my friend. dustin’s friend. he’s pretty cool though,” steve replied as you began to card through your vinyls in the living room.

“alright, is blondie okay?” you inquired, holding up a blondie vinyl so steve could see.

“i love blondie.”

“that’s a true mark of a good person,” you said, pointing at him.

he grinned at you.

once you set the vinyl up on your victrola, you walked into the kitchen to see steve cutting tomatoes.

“whatcha makin’?” you asked, stepping behind him.

“salad.”

“oh nice. i’ll make sandwiches, how’s that sound?” you offered.

“sounds good,” replied steve, tossing the sliced tomatoes onto a bed of lettuce.

the two of you cooked together quietly and softly humming blondie under your breaths.

finally, the two of you were finished and seated, music still playing and the food on the table.

“the salad looks great,” you said, smiling at steve as you dug your spoon into the bowl. he went a little pink.

“you think?” he asked, screwing up his lips to one side.

you nodded earnestly.

he scratched the back of his neck and laughed. “’s the only thing i know how to cook.”

you plopped a hearty portion of the salad down on your plate before the realization washed over you. you paused. “steve?”

he was already digging into your sandwiches.

“aren’t you home alone most of the time?” you asked slowly. steve nodded.

“it’s really not that bad,” said steve hastily, catching on. “my parents always provide me with food before they leave–”

you could tell it was a lie just based on his movements. you shook your head. “tomorrow, i’m coming over with food.”

“y/n, you don’t–” you held your hand up and steve stopped talking immediately.

“i refuse. i’m coming over tomorrow and i will be there with food,” you interrupted sternly, your eyebrows screwing up as you stared him down.

“y/n–”

you put your hand on his. despite the severity of the situation, steve couldn’t help his heart from fluttering. yours did too.

“steve. you cooked for me, okay? let me help you,” you said firmly, staring him in the eyes. “please?”

steve gave you a small smile and nodded before pulling his hand from underneath of yours and putting it on top. “thank you. is there anything i could do for you? you can’t just expect me to let you bring food to my house and not do anything.”

you wondered if steve could notice your heart pounding against your ribcage. he had to have noticed, it felt incredibly noticeable.

you grinned at him. “i’ll let you know.” steve grinned back as “i’m gonna love you too” played softly in the background. steve and you just noticed that your hands were still touching at the same time. steve quickly pulled away, looking down.

the two of you continued to eat in a peaceful silence.

•••

it was late when the two of you finished your dinner – probably 7 o’clockish – because the two of you kept stopping your meal to tell a joke or a story.

“alright,” said steve after he – to your reluctance – helped you clean up. “i think that i’ll head home now. i don’t want to be a bother.”

“no!” you exclaimed quickly. too quickly. “you’re not a bother. you’re always welcome here.”

steve smiled at you. “sorry, my salad wasn’t as good as it usually is. kinda wasted all your vegetables too.”

you shook your head. “no, you’re salad was great actually. the vegetables usually go to waste anyways. i’m more of a fruit girl and my dad is practically carnivorous. i swear he only eats so much steak just to prove he can afford it.”

steve smacked his lips together and smiled. “i think it’s a hawkins thing.”

you nodded, fighting the urge to say “or just us.” “well, i won’t keep you.” steve slid his hands into his baggy pockets before walking out the door, you at his heels.

“wait!” you exclaimed suddenly as steve was making his way into his car. steve stared at you dumbly.

“what?”

“stay right there, i’ll be right back!” you exclaimed, already dashing back to your front door.

steve sat there, unmoving, until you returned with something in your hands.

“almost forgot,” you said, handing steve the object with a massive smile on your face. steve took the object and stared at the text, trying to read it in the diminishing glow of the setting sun. little women. you remembered.

steve smiled up at you, his eyes bright. “you remembered.”

you rubbed the back of your neck, your cheeks growing warm. “i mean, it was only earlier today.” you inhaled as steve asked, “i’ll see you tomorrow?”

you nodded and just as steve went to pull out of your driveway, you ran up to his window. he immediately hit the breaks.

“um, steve?”

“yes, ma’am?”

it bothered you how your heart pumped a little louder and harder when steve said certain things to you. you’d only really talked to him once. you shouldn’t be feeling the things you were feeling that soon. but you were and you couldn’t stop it.

“i had a nice time today,” you said, smiling. “with you,” you added. “even if it was chasing wild teenagers through the woods. i had a really nice time today. probably the nicest time i’ve had all summer–” your breath hitched before mumbling, “’m going to shut up now.”

steve a small smile stretched across steve’s face. “i had a really nice time with you today too.”

and just like that, steve’s stupidly fancy car pulled out of your stupidly lame driveway and steve’s stupidly handsome face smiled at you as he drove away.

god, you were hopeless.

[trvqvoiisee]

❗️UPDATE PLEASE READ❗️

Hey guys ik it’s been a while since I’ve posted anything but I was busy with school and work and I genuinely had no motivation to post but I GRADUATED!! So I basically have a bunch of time to post and write stories I will be finishing up the Minho story and will be posting a master list of who I write for but you can request anyone atm I’m open to most fandoms/artists/actors/influencers!

[ryuzakemo128]

I want to be something

Content Warning: Implication of masterbation.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x You (Female Reader)

Summary: You're in a creative rut, you don't want to do much of anything, and the entire day is spent trying to get inspired by something or someone.

Your job was taxing enough how it is, when inspiration took hold, a lot of other things were left behind and taking care of yourself. You bought a caravan last month, you were going to decorate it in the hopes it would spark something new for your work. You didn't want to live in a trailer, in your mind it would become a last resort, not the first one.

Not only that, but you met Eddie when you were studying for your final exams, it was his second time held back in grade 12. You two couldn't be far more different, he was the life of the party, you were the one who hid in the corner. You were a trad goth, make up dark like the ace of spaces, your outfits dark and flowy, your hair black as night. Eddie, on the other hand, was a metalhead, leather jacket, denim vest, passion for Dungeons & Dragons.

You were keen on straightening out your curly hair for a short while. Trying to fit in without trying to fit in at the same time. Confusing to yourself just like it confused everyone else around you. When you were touching up your black eyeliner in front of your locker mirror, you heard a familiar voice. You pretended you did not hear it and continued to apply your make-up. You didn't want someone to interrupt what you were doing because your train of thought would be lost in the wind like a piece of crêpe paper at a festival.

After a while the voice got louder, the louder it got, the closer it was, sooner or later you wouldn't be able to ignore it anymore. Putting on a dark crimson red lip liner on your two toned rose-tinted plump lips. Before adding an ebony coloured lipstick to create a vampire-like look. Finally, you put on your favourite black lace choker, the one that made your neck look pale and fragile. You felt ready to face the world again. You took a deep breath and put your make-up back into your bag.

When you turned around, you were met with a familiar sight. Eddie, leaning against the lockers, hands in his pockets, his long dark hair falling into his face, as he looked at you with those piercing chocolate brown eyes. His lips curved up into a smile. Eddie thought, 'Well, well, look who decided to grace us with their 'presence'.

You hesitated for a moment, not sure how to react. You hadn't expected to see him here. "Oh, hey Eddie," you said, trying to sound casual. "What are you doing here?"

Eddie smiled wider. "Just waiting for my next class, why? Were you expecting someone else?"

"Pfft, why would I?" You weren't going to admit that you were heading to the library to study during lunch. Why would you?

Eddie chuckled. "Well, you know, just making sure I wasn't interrupting anything important."

"Studying is important." You murmured slightly, looking back down at your phone in your hands, even though it was off. You'd rather stare at the blank screen than make eye contact with him. "But it's not like anyone cares if I'm here or not." You shrugged, making it look like you didn't care.

Eddie chuckled again. "Oh, come on, you know I'm just messing with you. So, really, what are you doing here? I'm sure there's a more interesting reason than just studying."

"I have reached possible creative burnout." You simply stated, it was the truth. You had been trying to get started on the renovation of your caravan. But every time you went there, you just couldn't focus. "I can't get into the headspace. It's like my creative juices are dried up."

Eddie raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I see. So, you're saying you're not here to study?" He teased.

"Studying has helped before, so why wouldn't it help now?" You protested.

Eddie laughed, shaking his head. "You're too hard on yourself. Maybe you should take a break from it all, you know? Clear your head, do something different."

"I've already tried getting high last night. So, that didn't work either." You said. It made him laugh. "What's so funny?"

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh," he said, wiping a tear from his eye. "It's just… I never pictured you as the kind of person who would do drugs."

"I don't do them willy-nilly, you know? It was a one-time thing." You admitted. "Anyway, thanks for the advice. Maybe I'll take a break and try something different today. I just need to find something to spark my creativity again. Maybe I just need a hot bath."

Eddie laughed. "A hot bath? Really? That's your plan for sparking creativity?"

"Well it wouldn't just be a hot bath either." You answered, the suggestive note of possibly touching yourself made your cheeks heat up. If he didn't get the hint, then there was no way you could spell it out for him.

[Eddie's Point of view]

Eddie thought, 'Oh, so that's where her mind goes. Not that I blame her, but I didn't expect that kind of honesty from her. Maybe I should have. It's just… interesting.' "Here's my number, if you ever need someone to talk to or just… you know." He hesitated, his cheeks flushing slightly.

"Or not. It's up to you." He shrugged, trying to play it off casually. "Anyway, I should get going. My next class is about to start." He glanced at his watch, then back at her.

She nodded, feeling a little flustered. "Yeah, you should. Thanks for the advice, though."

Eddie smiled, giving you a small wave as he walked away. You watched him go, feeling a strange mixture of emotions. Part of you was glad that he didn't seem to be interested in anything more than friendship, but another part of you couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. You hadn't expected him to be interested in you romantically, but still… it was kind of nice to think about.

My other stuff: Masterlist 01 / Masterlist 02 / Vikings Masterlist

Divider Used: Link

Header Used: Link

[straykidsnerd255]

Hi can I get a stranger things match up?

I'm a female and a scorpio! 19 years old, I'm straight and use she/her pronouns. I'm 5'3 with long blonde and blue hair and blue eyes. My love language is quality time. I am quite shy when u first get to know me, but once I'm out of my shell I am loud and always making jokes. I'm considered the funny friend, slight people pleaser, and will do anything to protect my friends and family. I am also very blunt and can't help speaking my mind, even when I shouldn't. I would consider myself witty, but am lazy when it comes to academics. My main hobby is playing video games. One of the most important things to me is spending time with my dog. I love going to events especially concerts and getting dressed up for the theme. My fav genres of music are pop, indie, and alternative. I am also a massive swiftie!

Here you are, sweetie! Sorry, this took me so long to get out!! My creativity took a nose dive but I am back! Hope you enjoy this little drabble of your match-up!

I match you with…

Steve Harrington!!

When he first met you, you both clicked instantly. You both did everything together. He loved everything about you. When you told Steve about your favorite hobbies and things you loved doing, he didn’t care if they were not the things he liked. He would do them if it meant he could see you smile and laugh. One afternoon, after school, Steve had asked if you wanted to come over to his house since his parents were gone on another business trip and work on some homework but also wanted to know if you wanted to hang out with him. You agreed instantly. You loved spending time with him. It was your second favorite thing next to your dog. 

You had asked Steve if you could bring your dog along and you both could take your dog on a walk if he was ok with it. Steve nodded his head and smiled at the thought. “Yeah. We can walk your dog together.” He said. Your smile grew bigger and you hugged him tightly before leaving for home once the end of the day bell ran through the building. You quickly made your way to your car. Throwing everything you had in the back seat and climbing in the front seat. You started your car and immediately pulled out of the parking space and headed home. When you had parked your car, you turned it off, grabbed the schoolwork you had finished, and placed it in the house on the counter. 

You grabbed your dog's leash, placed it on her collar, and took her out to the car. Your dog sat in the seat next to you as you drove to Steve’s house. Upon arriving, Steve was already outside sitting on the pouch waiting for you. You smiled softly before pulling into his driveway, turning the car off, and hopping out of the car. He met you at your passenger side door and leaned down to give you a kiss, which you accepted. 

Pulling back from the kiss, you smiled softly before turning to open the door. Your dog jumped out of the car and immediately went over to Steve. Her tail started wagging harder before she jumped up and gave a surprise lick to Steve’s face making him sputter and laugh loudly. You covered your mouth as you tried to keep your laugh down but it didn’t work. You and Steve were both laughing as your dog finally calmed down. Taking her leash and placing your hand through the loop, you, Steve, and your dog made your way down the sidewalk. 

During the walk, Steve intertwined his fingers with yours, holding your hand. You loved the feeling of his hand in yours. You both looked like the picture-perfect couple. Now, you and Steve did have your arguments, but it never drove you or Steve to break up with each other. He loved you no matter what and a silly little argument wouldn’t break the two of you apart. He would always come back once he had time to think and would instantly apologize to you. Whether it was his fault entirely or a combination of yours and his. He would always apologize to you. He hated seeing you sad and hated it even more when he saw tears falling down your face. 

If you start crying, he’s going to start crying. He loves you way too much. He will move the stars if he sees you crying because of something he did. He will beg for your forgiveness even if it wasn’t something huge that had hurt you. He just hates seeing you sad. Expect lots and lots of cuddles and kisses from this man. He is going to kiss you no matter what time of the day it is. Oh! You’re going to a different class than he is? He’s kissing your forehead. You’re going to gym class and he’s going to math, he’s pressing a kiss to your cheek. It's like you two are soulmates that have finally found each other. And he is bound and determined to keep you safe no matter what happens.

[castielscaplan]

Braids and Soft Things (Billy Hargrove)

Summary: Billy watches as you braid his sister's hair.

Warnings: all the fluff, billy's not a douchebag in this

WC: 1.5K

Read on ao3!

A/N: dedicated to my fellow Billy lover @fandom-princess-forevermore

--

Billy’s legs were stretched out on your bed, one arm slung lazily behind his head, a cigarette burning slow between his fingers, though you’d already given him The Look for lighting it inside.

“Seriously, ash on my comforter and I’m throwing you out the window,” you’d muttered.

He just grinned, half-lidded and smug, watching you reorganize your bookshelf for the third time that week. It wasn’t even really about books anymore. You just liked when he was there, watching you like you were something worth staring at.

“Y’know,” Billy drawled, “You could come lie down and entertain me instead of alphabetizing Stephen King.”

You rolled your eyes but were already about to respond when the door creaked open and a small voice cut through.

“Y/N?” Max poked her head in, her expression a little sheepish.

Billy groaned instinctively. “Jesus, what now—”

“Billy,” you warned quietly, and then turned to Max, your voice warm and open. “What’s up, Max?”

Max stepped in holding a brush and a few scrunchies in mismatched colors. “Can you braid my hair?” she asked, cheeks a little pink like maybe she thought she was interrupting something.

Your face lit up. “Of course I can, come here.”

Billy scoffed, but not as harshly this time. He sat up a little straighter, leaning back on his elbows as Max climbed onto the bed beside you. You gently pulled her hair over her shoulder and started brushing through the red strands, careful, slow.

Max closed her eyes and relaxed into the motions, the room going quiet except for the soft tug of the brush and the occasional chirp of a bird outside.

Billy watched.

He meant to look away—meant to keep up the whole too-cool-for-this act—but something about the way you handled Max made his chest feel too full.

You were so damn patient. Fingertips gentle. Voice soft. You talked to Max the whole time, asking about her day, what book she was reading, if she wanted one braid or two. She laughed once, and it was the kind of sound Billy rarely got to hear from her.

And just like that, the annoyance ebbed.

He stubbed out the cigarette, not wanting the smell to ruin the moment.

Max caught his eye and blinked in surprise. “What?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Nothin’. Just... didn’t know you liked being babied.”

Max opened her mouth to snap back, but you pinched Billy’s leg without even looking.

“Don’t be mean. She’s allowed to want a braid and some peace.”

Billy glanced down at you, your fingers now moving through Max’s hair in practiced rhythm, and something warm curled under his ribs.

“…Looks good,” he muttered finally.

You smiled.

“She’s a good canvas.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “You’re good at that.”

“At braids?” you teased.

He shook his head, eyes soft now, unguarded in the way only you ever got to see. “Nah. At takin’ care of people.”

-

Max had gone home not long after, walking away with her braid swinging over her shoulder and a handful of your leftover gummy worms in her hoodie pocket. She’d muttered a half-hearted “Thanks” to Billy on her way out, which—for her—was practically a warm hug.

Now, the room was quiet again. The kind of calm that settled thick in the summer air after a small storm of laughter and kid sister energy.

You were back on your bed, curled near Billy, a book propped open but forgotten in your lap. He’d been silent for a while. Not in a moody way—more like he was turning something over in his head, and you knew better than to poke at it too soon.

“Hey,” he said eventually, voice low.

You looked over. “Yeah?”

He scratched the back of his neck, eyes darting toward the now-empty space where Max had been. “So, uh… could you show me how to do that?”

You blinked. “Do what?”

“The braid thing.” He shifted, suddenly way too interested in a rip on your blanket. “Not sayin’ I wanna do it all the time or anything. Just… maybe she’d let me do it for her. One day. If she wanted.”

The corners of your mouth tugged up, but you didn’t smile just yet—not because you weren’t delighted, but because you knew if you gushed, he’d retreat into a defensive shrug and a grumble about how it was “no big deal.”

So you nodded slowly, gently. “Yeah. I can show you.”

Billy looked relieved. “Cool. Like… now?”

“Sure.” You shifted to sit in front of him, grabbing the brush and a long strand of ribbon you’d left nearby. “You’re practicing on me, though. I’m not giving you a mannequin.”

He gave you a look that was half-scoff, half-smile. “Guess I can deal with that.”

You sat between his legs, your back to his chest, and handed him the brush.

“Start by brushing through a section. No yanking, or I’ll kick you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but his touch was gentler than you expected.

As he worked, you felt the shift happen—the tension slowly bleeding out of his frame, replaced by quiet focus. You guided him step by step: dividing the hair into three parts, showing him how to cross them, how to keep the tension even. His fingers were clumsy at first, rough from years of fights and fixing up his car, but he was trying. Really trying.

“Like that?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“Almost. Hold this piece tighter—yeah, just like that. You’re a natural.”

He snorted. “Don’t get carried away.”

You laughed and leaned back into his chest just a little, letting yourself relax fully into the moment. “You’re sweet, Billy.”

He paused, hands still tangled gently in your hair.

“No I’m not.”

“You are.”

Silence settled again. Then, in a rare, unguarded whisper:

“I just… want her to know I care. Even if I suck at saying it.”

You closed your eyes, fingers curling around his where they rested near your shoulder.

“She’ll know. Especially if you do her hair. It’s not about getting it perfect—it’s about showing up. That’s what you’re doing.”

Billy pressed a quiet kiss to the crown of your head, just once.

“…Thanks,” he said.

And you smiled, eyes still closed, braid a little uneven but perfect in every way that counted.

-

You were in the kitchen when it happened—rooting around in the fridge for something snack-worthy and debating whether string cheese counted as a real meal—when you heard it.

A very familiar voice from the living room.

“Okay, hold still. Jesus, your head’s like… slippery.”

You peeked around the corner.

Max was sitting cross-legged on the couch, a comic book resting in her lap, expression unreadable. Billy stood behind her, tongue poking slightly out of the corner of his mouth as he focused on twisting sections of her red hair into something vaguely resembling a braid.

It was lumpy. Uneven. Too loose at the top and way too tight by the bottom. But it was unmistakably a braid.

You leaned quietly against the doorframe, arms crossed, heart about ready to melt right through your ribs.

Max finally spoke, dry as ever. “You’re bad at this.”

Billy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, don’t act like you didn’t ask me.”

“I did not,” she shot back.

“You walked in here and dropped a hair tie in my lap.”

“That was not asking.”

“Felt like it.”

Max was silent for a beat. Then: “…It’s not the worst braid ever.”

Billy blinked. “Thanks, I guess.”

You stifled a laugh, watching as he tied off the end of her braid with the bright blue scrunchie Max had tossed at him earlier. He stepped back, surveying his handiwork like a mechanic judging his own engine fix.

Max craned her neck to get a look in the mirror across the room. “It’s a little jacked.”

Billy threw a cushion at her. She dodged it easily, grinning.

But she didn’t undo the braid.

She didn’t even touch it.

You stepped in then, casual. “Looks cute,” you said, brushing a bit of hair off Max’s shoulder as you passed.

Billy gave you a look—half sheepish, half smug, like see, told you I could do it. You raised an eyebrow. “Not bad for a first time.”

“I had a good teacher,” he muttered, bumping your hip as you passed.

Max looked between you two, clearly suspicious of whatever thing was happening but too cool to comment on it.

Instead, she said, “Next time, you’re learning fishtail braids.”

Billy groaned dramatically. “I didn’t sign up for a salon.”

You just laughed, grabbing a bag of chips and flopping down next to Max. She leaned her head on your shoulder, still wearing that uneven braid like it was a crown.

And Billy?

He sat down beside you both, close but casual, arm thrown across the back of the couch—watching his sister with something new in his eyes.

Something soft. Something real.

And for once, everything felt easy.

[lostalioth]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭

→ premise: eddie wasn’t convinced you were as innocent as you acted. his pervy thoughts of you were often guided by all the little dirty things you did. he knew he shouldn’t think that way you were his friend after all but you had to know what you were doing to him right?

→ pairing: perv!bestfriend!eddie x fem!reader

→ warnings: smut | 18+, 2.1k words, corruption kink, dacryphilia, frontagge? [eddie rubs his dick against her til he cums?] unprotected penetration, small bit of degrading language [whore], nicknames [baby, pretty girl, sweets, pretty best friend], reader is described to wear eddies shirt and pink/girly clothing a bit, not proofread

→ a/n: kinktober 12

Eddie was a touchy guy, a very touchy best friend in fact. He seemed to lack any awareness of personal space when it came to you.

Having you sit in his lap during movie nights whether it's just the two of you or if Robin or Steve join in. Laying his head in your lap while you play with his hair and his hands palm at your thighs tracing shapes on them. Draping his arm over your shoulders and pulling you to his side when you're in the middle of a conversation with someone or leaning his body weight against you. Now to you and your naive mind, you found all this and everything else he may do as innocent, you didn't understand why everyone new you met assumed the two of you were dating.

Except for Eddie everything he did, he had a little pervy underlying reason to it. Leaning on you and pulling your body against his to feel your soft skin on his and subconsciously claiming you as his. Sitting you in his lap to feel the heat radiating from your pussy on his cock even through multiple layers of fabric. Laying his head on your lap and rubbing on your thighs Imagining his head is buried between them instead.

Constantly he came up with any excuse he could to have his hands on you, to have your body against his, even rub up against you when given the chance when he’d scoot behind you to get somewhere even if there was a clearer path to his destination. Rubbing his bulge lightly against your ass when he’d brush by. To him there was no way you weren’t aware of his intentions when he did these things and all the little pervy moves he made. Every dirty thought he had or thing he did was guided by the seemingly not so innocent things you would do.

Though you weren’t actually aware of just what the things you'd do, did to poor ole’ Eddie. Batting your eyelashes at him when you wanted to be the one to pick the movie, pressing your body against him of your own accord when a scary part came on during one of his movie picks. He even swears though he isn’t 100% sure it wasn't a very vivid dream that you were grinding your ass against him for a second one time you were sitting in his lap.

It was currently one of those frequent movie nights and Eddie was painfully hard, his cock has been aching the moment he walked inside your house. Part of it sure was that he was just excited to have quality time with his pretty little best friend but then when he came in and saw the state you were in he was a goner. You were more comfortable around Eddie than anyone and you had opted to be cozy so all you had on was a long t-shirt and frilly pink socks, no pants on. Being the perv he was and with the fact he couldn't tell exactly he was secretly wishing you didn't have any panties on either.

Eddie got to pick the movie and it was one he’d seen a million times over so it didn't matter that he couldn't bring himself to pay attention. His eyes glued to you, your thighs exposed almost more than they are when you wear your tiny lacey skirts that also almost kill Eddie. Any last drop of reserve or self-control he had was slowly draining away from his body.

If he thought too hard about everything he felt like a piece of shit bestfriend that all he could think of during movie nights anymore was bending you over your living room couch and claiming your pussy as his. Making you his as you whine and moan that it's too much to take and he tells you what a good girl you’re being. Expect there was a small denranged part of him that desperatly wanted to corrupt your sweet naive mind until you’re the one who can only think about him fucking you, making you just as much of a pervert as he was.

Far too lost in own dirty thoughts he fails to notice that the movie has now ended, meaning it was your turn to pick and he should probably stop staring at your body.

“That was a good movie. Ed's wasn't as scary of a movie as you usually pick” your sweet voice snaps him out of his trance and he reluctantly tears his gaze away from your thighs crossed over one another.

“Oh uh yeah, figured I’d pick a calmer one this time for you sweets” he explains, lightly coughing as he squeezed the pillow that's been covering his lap this whole time, a small smile that doesn't reach his eyes forms on his face as he finally turns his attention to your face. Though switching his focus fails to dull the throbbing in his stiff cock, if it goes on any longer there's definitely going to be a wet spot in his boxers. You smile back at him before getting up from the couch, running over to the kitchen and putting the empty popcorn bowl in the sink. He watches as you walk away, a small groan leaving his lips, it didn't help that the shirt you wore was one of his old hellfire shirt’s. You in his clothes always made his heart ache just as much as his dick, you often stole his shirts or hoodies which didn't help people thinking you were dating and Eddie secretly loved that.

With a bounce in your step you make your way back over to the couch, standing more in front of Eddie as you do. Bending at the waist you lean over to pick the remote up off the oddly low coffee table, your shirt riding up as you do. Giving him an agonizingly perfect view of your ass and the mound of your pussy in your little pink panties. “Oh fuck..” he groans out, his knuckles turning white from how hard he is gripping the pillow infront of him. You turn around facing him now as you lean back up, having heard Eddie mumble out something. “What’d you say Ed’s??” You question with a cute look of confusion on your face.

His last ounce of composure and restraint flies out the window as he throws the pillow off his lap and grabs ahold of your hips pulling you into his lap.

“You fucking feel that pretty girl? That’s what you do to me, fuckin’ killing me sweets” he groans out, his bulge pressed right against your cunt, his jeans and your thin panties do nothing to stop him from feeling the heat settling in your core. you gasp out dropping the remote onto the cushion besides you as you feel just how hard he is. The cold metal of his rings sends a shiver down your spine when his hands push up at your shirt, bunching it up as they go. “But- I didn't do anything, or- I didn't mean to anyway Ed’s” you manage to stutter out, taken aback by both his abruptness and how good his cock feels against you even confined in denim. Lifting you up before letting go of your hips for a second so you're hovering over him, he unbuckles his belt and button to his jeans before tugging them down his thighs. “Ed’s I-I dont think best friends do this…” you whine out yet don't make any move to stop him as he grabs ahold of your hips again, planting your pussy right on his cock again with only thin underwear separating you now. You may be naive and innocent but you weren't a virgin you were well aware of what he was doing.

“it’s okay baby, just be my pretty little best friend and let me play with you okay, my cocks aching for ya’ yeah?” His tone is soft and slurred, his head going hazy in desire for you and the fact you were letting him go this far. “Mhmm~ okay i can do that” you whine out, your hips having a mind of their own squirming and grinding against him as his hands rub down your thighs.

“Atta girl sweets, s’good to me, always so sweet on me” he groans out as his fingers inch closer and closer to your aching pussy. Your slick has managed to begin soaking your panties, while Eddie's tip leaks precum forming a matching wet spot on his boxers. Tugging your panties to the side he runs his middle and ring finger through your slick folds, running over your clit that jumps at the small bit of attention. Your breath catches in your lungs as your eyes are glued to where your best friend's hands are playing with your leaking pussy. “Eddie.. it feels s’good” you whine out your hips bucking at his touch every time his fingers brush over your bundle of nerves.

“Look at you pretty girl, so fucking wet f’me like a little fucking whore” he groans out as he pushes down at his boxers, you lift your hips to help subconsciously. He pushes them down only enough to let his cock spring free, his cock thick, tip reddened and as veins run along the underside of his shaft. Your eyes are entranced by the sight, your mouth watering and your hole clenching around nothing, who knew your best friend had such a pretty cock.

Grabbing onto the base of his cock he angles it to nudge open your slit and run his tip through your soaked folds, grinding his shaft against your pussy. “Ahh~ pleasee Ed’s need you inside” you whine out, already getting overwhelmed, his cock rubbing against your bundle of nerves and tip just barely pushing at your hole before slipping out. The ongoing teasing and desire for him to push inside you crowd your head making it go fuzzy. “Nooo not yet baby, not till you're begging for it, gotta corrupt my sweet innocent little best friend til shes a cock hungry whore begging for me to fuck her” he chuckled darkly, even though he was more desperate than you to finally push into the warm heat of your cunt he was gonna make you beg for it.

Tears well up in your eyes threatening to fall as you buck against him in response to his hips grinding against your pussy. “Aww ya’ gonna cry sweets? Go on cry baby, beg for it” he groans out, he knew it was sick but as your tears fall down your cheeks he can feel his balls tighten, heavy and full of cum that's almost ready to burst. Your slick and his precum mix together to soak your panties, the thin fabric turning see through as he hooks it over his cock to keep it pressed between your folds.

“Fuck im gonna cum pretty girl, should cum in these fuckin’ flimsy panties and ruin em’ then stuff them in your mouth as i stuff this pussy” he growls out, his words making your pussy throbbing and your head spin, your head nodding frantically desperate for him to do exactly that. “Yeah baby? Want me to do that?” He taunts, a lopsided smirk glued to his lips as he leans in closer, forehead pressed against yours while your tears continue to fall down your cheeks, your eyes turning red and puffy the longer you cry out in pleasure.

“Please Ed’s yes!~ please need you to cum and i need you to fuck me please” you moan out, a deep stasifaction settled in eddie at your plea and he surges forward to press his lips to yours muffling your whines. Your thighs burning from grinding desperately against him, the last string of Eddie's snaps just as you dig your nails into his biceps and cry out his name into the heated frantic kiss. Hot ropes of cum spurt out and coat the inside of your panties and paint your puffy folds. Not stopping his thrusting Eddie grabs his cock that's still sandwiched under your now ruined panties and guides his still leaking tip to your entrance. Pulling away from your lips, he slaps his hand over your mouth just as he pushes inside you in one sharp hard thrust. A cry of pleasure and maybe some pain falls from your lips, along side a long line of curse muffled agianst his rough hand as he fucks up into the wet heat of your pussy that clenches down on him.

“My pretty bestfriend’s gonna be such a good fuckin’ cock drunk whore, all f’me now, all mine” all you can do in nod in respone, your eyes nearly rolling back in pleasure.

→ a/n: I rushed the end of this so i could get it out today and get back on track with kinktober lmao and somehow its still 2 thousand words and some change lmao but anyway enjoy loves give me feedback and tell me if something is misspelled this wasnt read over as im tired.

[robinsno1lesbian]

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐡’𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 ꪆৎ

masterlist!

this july-august, i will be taking requests for sapphic summer fics, blurbs + moodboards! this post includes the masterlist for all posts as well as the guidelines + characters i will be writing for! 🌞

i will write for pretty much all the women of stranger things, whether it’s reader inserts or ships! i mostly write for:

-nancy wheeler

-robin buckley

-ronance

feel free to send your requests for moodboards, headcanons & blurbs! find my guidelines here! <3

-& masterlist below the cut!

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ masterlist

✿ = fluff | ☾ = smut | ✩ = angst

fics!

touch me, touch me touch me ☾ (-r.b. x reader. 1.4k)

guilty pleasure ☾ (-r.b. x reader. 2.6k)

until we meet again ✿ ✩ (-ronance x reader 2.1k)

too sweet for me ☾ (-n.w. x reader. 2.8k)

i’ve got a burning desire for you ☾ (-r.b. x reader. 1.7k)

close to you ☾ (-n.w. x reader. 1.7k)

after midnight ☾ (-n.w. x reader. 2.4k)

it’s you & me, that’s my whole world ✿✩ (-r.b. x reader. 1.2k)

moodboards!

beach date with robin ✿

summer with nancy wheeler ✿

headcanons!

summer robin headcanons ✿☾

brother’s best friend!robin headcanons ☾

blurbs!

ronance as moms ✿

overstimulation with robin ☾

— disclaimer: all works on this list are either x fem!reader or x gn!reader

[keeryhours]

there is no other love (it’s only yours) - steve harrington

Steve Harrington x female! reader

Main Masterlist

Join a Taglist

Summary:

You and your best friend are constantly mistaken for a couple - sometimes you have a little fun with it.

Or, 5 times you were mistaken for Steve Harrington’s girlfriend, and the one time you really were.

Warnings:

Kissing, underage drinking, just fluff

Word Count: 8k

A/N:

Wow this is finally getting posted! This has been in my docs half written since JANUARY. I’m excited to finally share it with you, and anon who requested this, I hope you’re still around to see it! Thank you @punkrockmlchael for my banner ❤️

The first time you were mistaken for Steve’s girlfriend, you were in high school. It was a Friday night and the atmosphere in Hawkins was electric. The basketball team was about to play the championship game, and the whole school was crowded into the gym.

You dressed in a shirt you made with Steve’s number, 11, painted onto it, Harrington across the back. You used face paint to draw little 11s onto your cheeks. When you walked into the gym, Steve spotted you immediately, running up to you and wrapping you in a tight hug.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said, a huge grin on his face. “Look at you, all school spirit-ed up!”

“Just for you,” you laughed. “Harrington’s #1 fan.”

Steve looked genuinely touched. He pulled you into another hug, holding you until his coach called for him.

“Harrington! We need you over here!”

Steve pulled back, hands on your shoulders as he smiled at you. “See you after the game. I better hear you in the crowd.” Then he turned and jogged back to where the rest of his team waited for him.

You were still smiling as you climbed the steps, finding a spot with a great view of the whole court. Carol and Tina gave you a strange look as you passed, but you ignored them.

The game started, and the crowd came alive. Your eyes were glued to Steve the whole time, watching as he expertly blocked the other team’s shots and made basket after basket. He was running the court, and you had never felt more proud.

The other team was not having a good time. One of their players in particular started getting rough with Steve, elbowing him and knocking him to the ground. You gasped, standing to get a better look, but he was fine. Jason offered him a hand and helped him up, and the ref called a foul.

Steve was awarded a free throw. He stood behind the free throw line, bouncing the ball a couple of times as he lined up his shot. He tossed the ball and it effortlessly flew through the air, swishing through the basket. He took his second free throw, once again sinking the ball in the basket. His teammates clapped him on the back as they got back to the game. Steve looked into the stands, spotting you immediately and giving you a smile and small wave that you happily returned.

The game was close. The clock ticked down the remainder of the fourth quarter, and the other team was just barely in the lead, 71 to 70. Steve got control of the ball, spinning around to face the net. The timer went on - 2 seconds, 1 second - and Steve took the shot. All of Hawkins held their breath as the ball flew through the air, seemingly in slow motion - and swished through the basket.

The crowd went wild. You stood, jumping up and down as you screamed your head off. The team surrounded Steve, lifting him high in the air as they chanted - “Harrington! Harrington! Harrington!”

You ran down the steps as fast as you could. Steve turned to you like you were the only person in the room, holding his arms out for you to run into. He scooped you up, twirling you around as you laid your head on his sweaty shoulder.

“That was incredible!” You exclaimed once he sat you down. “You were amazing out there!”

“Thank you,” he said, the huge grin plastered to his face. He was riding the high of the win, of being the star player of the Hawkins varsity basketball team. It was a well deserved pride.

Your moment was interrupted by Carol and Tina approaching. They gave you a look, eyes moving between you and Steve.

“So are you guys, like, dating now?” Carol asked, her tone bitchy as usual.

You opened your mouth to say no, you were just friends, but Steve beat you to it.

“Yeah, we are,” he said proudly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “We’ve been dating for a couple months now. She’s the best, isn’t she?”

You looked up at him in confusion, but decided to go along with it. “Oh, yeah,” you added. “Steve is just amazing. He’s the best boyfriend ever.”

Steve went on. “We’ve been best friends forever, you know, but I finally confessed my feelings and asked her out. I was terrified. But she said she felt the same, and the rest is history, as they say.” He chuckled. “Best thing I’ve ever done. She’s my dream girl.”

Carol and Tina both looked between you, their expressions judgmental as they chewed their bubblegum. “Well, good for you guys, I guess,” Carol said, before the two of them walked off.

When they were out of earshot, you turned to Steve, brows furrowed. “We’ve been dating for a couple months?” You questioned him, a laugh in your voice.

Steve shrugged, grinning. “Why not? It’s none of their business anyway.”

“You came up with a whole backstory.” You shook your head, laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”

Everyone at school thought you were dating after that, and neither of you ever corrected anyone. When prom season rolled around, Steve asked you to go - just as friends. You went shopping with Robin and found the perfect dress - dark purple, sleeveless and with a poofy skirt. It fell to just below your knees. It made you feel beautiful, you had been looking forward to prom your whole life, never having an excuse to dress up like this.

Your older sister, Lori, came over, excited to help you get ready. You sat on the bench of your vanity, talking and laughing with her as she curled your hair, then did your makeup. She did your eyeshadow first, a smokey eye that went well with your dress. She painted your lips with a nude color. 

Steve picked you up that evening, knocking on your door and using his Harrington charm on your mom, who already loved him. She always told you that you and Steve should get married, and jokingly called him her son in law when he wasn’t around.

When you walked down the stairs and saw him, your heart skipped a beat. In reality you were just friends, of course, but he looked so handsome it nearly took your breath away. He was dressed in a black tux, a dark purple tie on to match your dress. He might have looked even better than you did, you thought.

“You look beautiful,” Steve said. He held a purple corsage in his hand, still in its clear box.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” You reached for the hall table and grabbed the matching purple boutonniere sitting on top.

Your mom took about a million photos as you pinned the boutonniere to Steve’s jacket and he slid the corsage onto your wrist. Then you were made to pose for another million photos. You didn’t entirely mind, and Steve sure didn’t - he was absolutely eating up the attention - but you were ready to get going when she was finally satisfied.

Steve held out his arm and you looped yours through his. Your parents and Lori watched you from the front door as you walked - and saw a limo sitting out front.

“Steve!” You gasped. “This is too much.”

“It’s not every day we go to prom,” he smiled. “I wanted to make it special.”

Steve held your hand as you climbed into the back of the limo, him right behind you. When the limo began moving, he reached into the mini fridge and pulled out a bottle of champagne, holding it up on display and raising his eyebrows. “Want a drink?”

“Uh, yes,” you said, like it was obvious - which it was. Steve grinned as he grabbed two champagne flutes and filled them with the bubbly liquid.

You laughed together as you drank on the way to school, and by the time you got there you were both pretty tipsy. It was going to be a fun night.

Steve helped you climb out from the limo, escorting you inside. You stopped to take a photo together where Jonathan was running the booth. As you walked into the auditorium, Time After Time was just beginning to play.

Steve held out his hand - “Dance with me?”

You didn’t have to be asked twice. You took his hand and he led you to the dance floor, his hands sliding to your waist as your arms went around his neck and he held you close. You slow danced with your best friend, worried he could feel your heart beating against his own chest. The way he looked at you sent butterflies flying in your stomach. You almost thought he might kiss you.

But that would be silly, wouldn’t it?

After high school, you and Steve both got jobs at Scoops Ahoy. The uniforms were stupid and the job was mundane, but at least you got to work with your best friend. And Steve was pretty cute in the sailor outfit.

“I didn’t even know there were this many ice cream flavors in existence,” Steve said on your first day, looking down at the freezer in wonder. “It’s like…ice cream wonderland.”

You snorted. “Do you want some ice cream, Stevie?”

He looked at you, eyebrows raised. “Uh, yeah, I do. You’re telling me you’re not excited by free ice cream?”

“I guess it’s one perk of this shitty job.” You grabbed two of the sample spoons. “What flavor?”

Steve examined the freezer again. “Rocky Road.”

“Chocolate chip cookie dough for me,” you said, opening the glass door and scooping one of each flavor. You handed the spoon to Steve, who ate it right away.

Steve watched you as you ate the ice cream off the spoon, making you blush. You licked the delicious treat off the spoon, him watching you intently the whole time. “What?”

“Nothing,” Steve said, shaking his head as he turned back to the cash register, acting like he was doing something very important as his shorts suddenly felt uncomfortably tight, the skin of his neck heating in a blush.

The two of you goofed around until the mall opened, then it was a steady stream of customers ready to cool down from the summer heat. It kept you busy, but some of the customers liked to talk.

“You’re such a beautiful girl,” one older lady commented one day as you scooped her mint chocolate chip. “Is that handsome young man your boyfriend?”

You started to laugh, “Oh, he’s-“

But Steve interrupted, putting his arm around you. Your heartbeat sped up, beating hard in your chest, although you didn’t know why. “Yeah, we’ve been dating for years. High school sweethearts. It was our dream to open this ice cream shop together. Now it’s finally come true, hasn’t it sweetheart?”

You looked at him. “That’s right babe. I’m just happy to be on this adventure, setting sail on the ocean of flavor, with you.”

Steve kissed you on the temple before he beamed back at the woman, who seemed to believe you as she took her ice cream, smiling at you both. “How cute. That’s wonderful. You remind me of me and my husband at your age.”

When she left, you and Steve busted out laughing. “Nice job, sweetheart,” he laughed.

“You’ve got to stop telling people we’re together,” you shook your head with a smile.

“Why? It’s fun.” Steve lifted his sailor hat to run a hand through his immaculate hair. You couldn’t help but notice his new sneakers he got to match his uniform. He would do something like that.

Steve was in the back when a group of familiar kids walked in. Before they could even ask, you turned. “Stevie, your kids are here!”

Steve came around the corner, hands on his hips. “Really? Again?”

“It’s Day of the Dead,” Dustin reasoned. “We can’t get in and we aren’t missing it.”

You wandered to the back, leaving Steve to deal with the group of kids using him to sneak into an R rated movie. You decided it was the perfect time to take your break, sitting at the table and grabbing your book from your bag, flipping to where you left off.

Out front, Dustin gave Steve a smirk. “So, that’s her?”

Steve’s head twisted around in a panic to make sure you were out of earshot. When he turned back to the kids, his expression was irritated. “Dude.”

“She’s pretty,” Mike commented. “I see why you’re so obsessed.”

“I am not-“ Steve looked around again before leaning closer onto the counter. “I am not obsessed.”

“Yeah, okay, man,” Lucas said, telling Steve he didn’t believe him for a second.

“You never shut up about her,” Max contributed. “We’re not dumb. It’s obvious you’re in loooove.”

Steve blushed furiously, looking down to hide the redness of his cheeks. “I am not…you know what, don’t you have a movie to catch?”

He quickly led them through the back, not giving a single one of them the opportunity to speak to you. He didn’t trust them one bit. He opened the door to the back hall and the kids all filed out, making kissy noises at him as they left.

Because Steve definitely wasn’t in love with you. You were just his best friend. Nothing more. He swears.

Your sister Lori had a baby girl 6 months after you graduated high school. She named her Annie, and she was really a perfect baby. Always so calm and well behaved, and she loved spending time with you and Steve.

You were basically volunteered for babysitting duty whenever it was needed, but you didn’t mind. You always loved kids, and you loved your sister and your niece. It was fun to play house for the day, go out in public and pretend you were a mom. It was especially fun when Steve tagged along, because, well, he made everything more fun.

When Annie was 1 year old, your sister left you in charge while she and her husband went to Indianapolis for the day. You and Steve decided to have a fun day and take her out to the children’s museum. She had just gotten walking down and always wanted to be independent now.

It took Steve an annoyingly long time to find a parking spot and it was making Annie fussy, so when he finally did, you were all relieved.

“Way too fuckin’ busy for a Tuesday,” Steve grumbled as he killed the car engine and started unbuckling his seat belt. You grabbed Annie from the back and got her buckled in her stroller, which Steve pushed to the front door. He bought three tickets from the counter and you all headed inside, Annie looking at the surrounding ocean exhibit with wide eyed wonder.

Steve was amazing with kids. It always made you feel warm and fuzzy inside to see him interact with them, and the way he played with your niece was no exception. He sat her on his shoulders as he walked through the museum, giving her the best view of anything she could want to see.

When you reached the mini grocery store setup, Steve sat the wiggling toddler down and she grabbed his hand, leading him through the fake store. She added all kinds of pretend food to her mini shopping cart, and when she was done, Steve manned the cash register and scanned her purchases.

“Having a cookout this weekend?” Steve asked as he scanned a pretend pack of hot dogs. “Beautiful weather for it.” When she was done, she walked off with her cart. Steve stopped her - “Ma’am! Your change!”

In the playground area, Annie found some toddlers her age and began playing with the blocks with them. You and Steve took a much needed break as you sat together on a bench with Annie in full view.

“Long day,” Steve sighed, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rode up the slightest bit, revealing a tiny bit of skin. Your eyes went right to it.

“Yeah,” you agreed when you wiped the drool off your chin. “You having fun though?”

“‘Course,” Steve smiled at you. “I love hanging out with my girls.”

His girls. The sentence made you feel giddy, like you weren’t just babysitting your niece and maybe had an actual family with Steve. A wedding ring, an adorable brown haired hazel eyed child. You let yourself entertain the thought.

The couple sat on the bench next to you turned your way, the woman giving you a friendly smile. “Is she yours?” She asked, pointing to Annie.

“Oh, yeah,” you answered. Steve leaned around you to look at the couple. “Her name is Annie.”

“She’s adorable,” the woman said. “That’s mine, Oliver.” She pointed to the little boy handing Annie a block. “Sorry if it’s rude to ask, but how old are you two?”

“We’re nineteen,” Steve answered for you. “Just graduated from Hawkins High a year ago.”

“That’s where we met,” the woman said, smiling at her husband before turning back to you. “You’re so young. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Well,” you began, looking at Steve. “It’s definitely hard, but we always knew we wanted kids. Especially Steve.” You leaned on his shoulder, smiling at the couple like you were head over heels in love. “So we got an early start.”

“I’m 30 and I still feel like I don’t know what I’m doing sometimes,” she laughed. “You two are doing great. You have a beautiful family.”

The comment made your heart soar, as if you hadn’t just completely lied to this woman and it wasn’t all pretend. You squeezed Steve’s hand, and he returned it.

When Annie started fussing and rubbing her eyes, you knew it was time to get her home for a nap. You just hoped the day’s excursion had worn her out enough to lay down without a fuss and take a good one. You put her back in her stroller, and Steve pushed it as you left the building.

“So I have to stop making up stories about us being together?” Steve whispered, teasing you for your earlier words.

You blushed. “It was just the perfect opportunity. She totally assumed we were together and Annie was ours.”

“She did,” Steve agreed. “But you surprised me, I didn’t think you’d go for it. I mean, I would have if you didn’t, but still.”

You burst into laughter. “I knew you were thinking it!”

Steve laughed, too. He shook his head, brown locks brushing against the collar of his shirt. “Of course I was thinking it.”

Annie was passed out by the time you got her back into her car seat. Steve was such a natural with her, it made your heart flutter in your chest. You thought about what it might be like if you were together, if Steve was really your boyfriend - or husband - and you had a child together. You knew he would be the best dad in the world. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind.

He played the radio quietly as you drove back home. Neither of you spoke, not wanting to wake Annie. She probably wouldn’t nap once you got home, so you wanted her to get as much rest as possible. But every now and then Steve would turn to you, giving you a soft smile that made your stomach do flips.

When he dropped you off, he helped you carry the sleeping baby inside. Your sister held her hand over her chest as she watched Steve with Annie, shooting you a knowing look behind his back that had you blushing.

“Thank you for taking her,” she told you both. She kept shooting you glances that were far too obvious for your comfort.

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Steve said, usual charming smile on his face. “We had a good time.”

“Yeah?�� Lori asked, smiling between you two like an idiot. You gave her a look that said please stop.

“Yes,” you answered for the both of you. You pushed Steve through the house and to your bedroom as he laughed.

“I like your sister,” Steve said, laughing. “I don’t know why you’re always trying to get away from her.”

“She’s embarrassing,” you muttered.

“She’s nice,” Steve said.

Yeah, when she isn’t trying to embarrass you in front of your friend. You shook your head. “You don’t get it. You don’t have any siblings.”

Steve kind of deflated at that, and you instantly felt bad. You knew Steve’s family was a touchy subject. His parents were pretty emotionally neglectful, never around, hardly cared what Steve did as long as he showed up to school and didn’t get himself killed. But he was lonely, and always had been. He’d wished for a sibling for as long as he could remember.

You put a hand on his shoulder. “You can have her, if you want.”

That got a smile out of Steve. He nudged your forehead with his own. “Nah. I’d rather just spend time with you.”

“You’re coming tonight, right?” Eddie asked excitedly, practically bouncing up and down as he cornered you, Steve, and Robin at Family Video.

“It is Tuesday,” you said, closing up a VHS box and giving Eddie a smile. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Ed.”

Eddie was beaming as he turned to Steve and Robin expectantly. Steve had been leaning against the counter on one arm, watching you and Robin. With Eddie’s waiting gaze on him, Steve looked between you and him. “Well, I don’t go anywhere without her, so. Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“We’ll all be there,” Robin said. “Calm down.”

Eddie was practically bouncing off the walls. This was a big show for Corroded Coffin - not the typical Tuesday night crowd with five drunks. The rumor was someone from a label was supposed to be there. Eddie had been demanding you all come for moral support - and to make the crowd look at least a little bit better.

That night, you dug through your closet looking for something metal concert-appropriate. You didn’t have much to choose from. You ultimately decided on a black top that tied in the front and a tiny little matching skirt. Some tall lace up boots and tights pulled the look together.

When you walked outside to Steve’s car, you could see his eyes widen through the window. You had to pull your skirt down as you got in to keep from flashing him.

“Jesus,” Steve practically choked out. “You look-“

“Ridiculous?” you filled in for him. “Yeah, I know.”

“That…is not what I was going to say.” Steve shook his head, blowing out a long breath of air as he backed out of the driveway.

You picked up Robin next, who slid into the backseat behind you. Both Steve and Robin were dressed in their normal wardrobe - you felt kind of like a total fucking idiot. This wasn’t you.

You didn’t notice the way Steve kept looking at you, letting his gaze linger way longer than he knew he should’ve. Robin noticed.

At the Hideout, Steve put a hand on your lower back and led you into the crowded bar. It was packed for a Tuesday. Steve left you and Robin in a booth and took to the bar with his fake ID.

When he came back, he had three beers held in his hands. He placed them down in front of each of you and slid into the booth on your side.

There were a few opening acts before Corroded Coffin - no one particularly interesting. You were barely listening to the music at all as you chatted with Robin and Steve, laughing harder and harder the more drinks you got in your system.

When Eddie came onstage, the three of you cheered louder than anyone. He caught your eyes in the crowd immediately, smiling and waving back. The band started playing, and you nodded along to the music.

“I need another drink,” you said, hinting that Steve should get up to let you out.

“I’ll go get it for you,” he said, standing.

“No, I need to stretch my legs,” you said. You had forgotten just how tiny your skirt was until you stood and could feel the breeze on your upper thighs. “We can go together.”

Steve nodded, leading you through the crowd. You may not have noticed, but Steve didn’t miss the way every guy in the bar was looking at you, letting their eyes freely drop to your barely-covered ass. Steve shot dirty looks to all of them, staying close behind with his hands on you at all times.

You made it to the bar, leaning against it. It was packed, the bartender all the way at the other end. “This is gonna take forever,” you groaned.

“Wait here,” Steve said. “I’ll go catch him down there. Another beer?”

“And some shots,” you smirked, which Steve returned. You watched him go, disappearing into the crowd of people.

“That your boyfriend?”

You turned around, startled. A large man stood behind you, not entirely unfriendly looking, but you knew better than to trust strange men in bars. “What?”

“Was that your boyfriend?” the man asked, gesturing towards Steve. You looked back at him at the bar before turning back to the man.

“Yes,” you said on instinct.

The man looked like he didn’t quite believe you, like maybe you were just trying to get rid of him (you were). “How long you been together?”

“5 years,” you said easily, thinking of the day you and Steve had become official best friends. “High school sweethearts.”

“Oh yeah?” the man said, his little interest waning.

“Yeah,” you said. “Actually, he stole me from that guy up there.” You gestured up to where Eddie was going crazy on stage, and the man’s eyes widened. “We were together for a little while. But Steve? He’s the real rocker, if you know what I mean.”

The man looked thoroughly uncomfortable at this point. The sight of Steve coming back over from over your shoulder was enough of a push for him to get out of this interaction. “Have a good rest of your night.”

“The real rocker, huh?” Steve asked with a smirk, sliding up next to you and handing you a shot. He carried both your beers in his one hand. You tilted your head back and swallowed the shot with ease. “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” you said. “I think he was gonna hit on me. Asked if you were my boyfriend.”

“And you said yes?” Steve asked teasingly.

“Well, yeah. I didn’t want to deal with that.”

“Nice story,” Steve said, and you blushed, realizing he had probably overheard more than you thought. “I’m the real rocker?” he repeated, like he had really gotten a kick out of that.

You shrugged. “It made him uncomfortable. I thought it was funny.” You took a second shot.

Steve looked at you - really looked at you. His eyes slowly trailed over your body, your outfit, taking in every inch of skin exposed by the tiny material. His heart thudded harder, harder in his chest. He opened his mouth to say something he’d probably regret when Robin came up between you, grabbing your arm.

“You guys took forever,” she said. “Now I need a drink.”

It had been a few years since graduation when Richard Harrington decided he was done torturing his son and gave him a job at his insurance company.

Steve’s first real Big Boy Job. A job where he had to dress in business casual, get up early to style his hair and iron his shirts. He did well there, rising up the ladder faster than expected - you knew it was on Steve’s own merit because his dad wasn’t exactly the charitable type.

You were a junior in college, studying education. Dean’s list, soaring grades, on track to be class valedictorian. Things were going well.

“Do you want to come with me to the company Christmas party?” Steve asked one evening as you were lounging at your apartment. He was still in his work clothes, button up shirt undone with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He’d come over right after he got off. Most days, all he wanted to do when he got off work was hang out with you.

“You want me to go?” you asked, sitting your mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table.

“Yeah, of course,” Steve said, like it was obvious. “I mean, it’s probably gonna be lame, but if you’re there-“

“I’ll go,” you said. “Do I need to dress up?”

“Uh…yeah. Probably,” Steve said.

“It’s fun to have an excuse to dress up sometimes,” you mused.

You couldn’t find anything in your closet you actually liked that fit the vibe of Steve’s fancy annual company Christmas party - so you dragged Robin and Lori out shopping with you. Lori was having fun, at least.

“How many dresses are you gonna try on?” Robin whined, running her hand absentmindedly through the rack of clothes. “I feel like you’ve tried on everything in the store.”

“I just haven’t found the right dress yet,” you mumbled as you examined a little black number on the rack. For some reason, this had to be perfect. You had to look perfect. It was important to you.

“You’ll find it,” Lori said. “It’s in here. I can feel it.”

It was an hour later, and Robin was dragging her feet. You were starting to feel bad - maybe you shouldn’t have brought her, but you missed her since you no longer worked together. You didn’t get to see each other as often.

“Oh my god,” Lori said, slowly pulling a hanger down. “This…”

You turned and saw your sister holding a glittering short red dress. It was stunning. It fit the Christmas/winter wonderland vibe perfectly. You took it from her, the material softer against your skin than you expected.

“Go try it on,” Lori encouraged.

You went into the changing room for what felt like the millionth time and shed your familiar clothes. You took the dress off the hanger, the fabric cascading across your skin like water. It was easy to put on, too.

You stepped out of the dressing room, and Lori gasped.

“Oh, finally,” Robin said.

Turning to look in the mirror against the wall, seeing yourself in the dress for the first time - it took your breath away. You had never felt particularly confident in yourself, but if anything was going to give you unbeatable confidence, it was this dress.

“You look so hot,” Lori said.

“Agreed,” Robin added. “This is the one. And I’m not just saying that because I wanted to get out of here 6 dresses ago.”

That night you dressed in your new gown. The hem went right to mid thigh, showing off your legs in a very sexy way. It showed off your cleavage just enough without it being too revealing for a company Christmas party.

You knew Steve was just your best friend, but you were about to knock him dead.

He picked you up right on time, the knock on the door coming at 6 on the dot. You opened your apartment door to the sight of Steve dressed in navy pants with a white and grey button up and matching suit jacket - a red tie around his neck that somehow matched your dress perfectly. He wore his glasses, which he hardly ever did. 

He had been standing there in his normal bored kinda way, leaning against the door frame as he waited for you to answer like he had much more interesting things to do. But once you opened the door and he saw you, he practically choked, standing up straight and nearly tripping over his own feet.

“Wow,” he finally managed to get out. “You- you look incredible.”

“Looking handsome yourself,” you smiled playfully, grabbing your black clutch from the hall table. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, ready,” he said, still distracted. Even with his mind reeling and actively trying not to look too hard at your body, he led you to the car with his hand on your back, opening the door for you and holding your hand as you sat down.

“Is this a date, Harrington?” you teased him as he got into the driver’s seat of his new car. “This feels kinda like a date.”

Steve laughed lightly. “Just trying to be a gentleman.” He thought for a second. “I guess you could be considered my date for the night. By some people.”

“Our first date,” you cooed playfully. “Cute.”

At the office building, Steve parked in his designated spot - close to the front. He helped you out and escorted you inside with you hanging onto his arm. You stepped on the elevator and Steve pressed the button for the 15th floor.

The doors closed, and you and Steve were left in the quiet, the only sound the rumbling of the ascending metal box.

Steve cleared his throat. He looked like he was trying to look anywhere but at you. It was starting to make you feel a little bad. “Do you not like my dress?” you asked softly, your earlier confidence being left behind in the ground floor lobby. “Are you embarrassed?”

“No!” Steve said quickly, almost a little too loud. “No, that’s not- I like it. I really like it. You look stunning. Actually…” he thought for a second. “Stunning,” he said again. “You’re gonna be the hottest chick there.”

You laughed, feeling a little better. You just couldn’t understand why Steve was being so weird.

On the top floor, it was much louder. Muffled Christmas music traveled down the bright white hall, and Steve led you down, opening the door for you.

A party had been set up inside, not huge, but pretty big. Lots of guys in suits dressed similarly to Steve, mingling with drinks in their hands and beautiful women on their sides. You were sure most of these women had rings on their fingers, however. Big, flashy rocks.

Steve was quickly wrapped up in a whirlwind of conversations with his colleagues. You were each handed a champagne flute that you sipped on while you listened to Steve talk about things you didn’t understand while smiling and laughing at the appropriate times.

But Steve kept his hands on you. If you weren’t holding onto his arm, his left arm was around your waist, or his hand on the small of your back. And you couldn’t help but notice how handsome and grown he looked. Steve never wore his glasses, but all of a sudden you wished he would more often.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” you whispered to Steve just as he got waved over by another man.

He looked down at you. “Do you want me to take you? They’re just over there, but-“

“No, I’m okay,” you smiled. “Keep mingling. I’ll be right back.”

Steve watched you leave, the sway of your hips in the fabric of that dress near hypnotizing. When you were out of sight, he turned and walked over to Tom, the guy who had been calling him over.

“Hey, man,” Tom greeted, clapping Steve on the back. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Yeah, having a pretty good time,” Steve answered with a friendly smile.

“Was that your girl?” Tom asked, nodding in the direction you’d gone. And Steve wasn’t going to play the game tonight - he really wasn’t - but then Tom said, “Because I’ve been watching her all night, and she’s hot as hell. I was going to ask for her number if she’s just a friend. Or maybe you could set a guy up?” He waggled his eyebrows at Steve mischievously, and Steve felt like he could’ve punched the guy.

“She’s my girlfriend,” Steve said. He told Tom your name - and it had never felt quite so right rolling off his tongue.

“Lucky bastard,” Tom teased. “I hope you appreciate what you’ve got. Because that girl is-“

“Yeah, I get it,” Steve said, politely cutting him short. “I’m a lucky guy, believe me I know it.”

“How’d you two meet?”

“High school,” Steve answered easily. “She was, uh…she was my assigned math tutor.” He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck as he recounted the memory. “Brought me from a D to an A in that class. I’d never learned so much in my life.”

“If my math teacher looked like that…”

Steve smiled, as if he was lost down memory lane. “We became best friends after that. Literally inseparable since. I haven’t gone a day without her in 10 years.”

“That’s sweet man, really,” Tom said, more genuine this time. “I’m happy for you. You deserve a nice girl. Just don’t be an idiot - don’t let her go.”

Don’t let her go.

The words rang around in Steve’s ears for the rest of the night. Even when you returned, back by his side while he made the rounds - he couldn’t stop thinking about what Tom had said. Don’t let her go. Don’t let her go.

Steve hadn’t realized how he felt about you until it slapped him in the face in that exact moment - out of nowhere, it nearly knocked him off his feet. He looked down at you, smiling and laughing as you sipped on your champagne and talked with his boss’s wife - and it nearly took his breath away.

How had he been so stupid all these years?

Sure, there had been times he was unbearably attracted to you - but he was only a man, and you usually happened to be wearing something unreasonably sexy when it happened. Like now.

But there was more. It was the way his heart clenched when you laughed. The way you made him smile like no one else. They way you made him laugh, kept up with his sense of humor, never made him feel stupid or less than. You befriended everyone - there wasn’t a cruel bone in your body. Friend of everyone, yet you never let anything get in the way of your friendship with Steve. You were his best friend.

And he loved you.

He had to get out of there.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked you, mid conversation.

You looked up at him, surprised. “What?”

“I think I’m ready to go,” he said. “I just think…I need to get out of here. Get some fresh air.”

You looked at him with your eyebrows drawn together in concern. “Okay. We can go.”

Grateful you didn’t put up a fight while Steve felt like he was losing his mind, he told everyone a quick goodbye and led you back to the elevator. The ride down was silent, and significantly more awkward. Steve couldn’t wait to be out.

The elevator dinged as it stopped at the lobby once more, and Steve speed walked off. You were running as fast as you could in your heels, trying to keep up. “Steve, wait up! Where are you going?”

He was outside now, the cold air whipping through his hair and making his nose burn. He knew you had to be freezing in that tiny little dress. He had made it to the large fountain in the courtyard when he turned abruptly, nearly making you knock onto his chest.

“Jesus,” you said, stopping. “What are you doing, Stevie? What happened in there? Are you okay?”

Steve didn’t answer any of your questions because he didn’t know how to. Instead, he took his suit jacket off and handed it to you. “Here. You’re probably cold.”

You looked at him strangely. But you were cold, so you took the jacket and slipped it over your shoulders. “Thanks.”

It was silent besides the running water sounds of the fountain. You and Steve just looked at each other, the only ones outside at this time of night. The party was still in full swing upstairs. You just stared each other down, both of you waiting on someone - the other or yourselves - to make the first move.

Steve finally took a step closer to you. He said your name, so gently it floated across to you on the breeze.

“What’s going on with you?” you asked. “I thought we were having a good time, and-“

“I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes went wide and you reeled back as if you’d been struck. “What?”

“You heard me.” Steve took another step. “I’m in love with you. I’m fucking in love with you. And I don’t think I can pretend I’m not anymore.”

You were in complete shock. The sounds of the rushing water filled your ears once again, and you gaped at Steve like a fish as you tried to come up with something to say. It felt like your brain had just completely short circuited.

Steve began to look defeated. His head dropped and he held intense eye contact with his loafers. “I…I just had to tell you. I’m sorry.”

More rushing water. Then - “Why are you sorry?”

“Because I think I just ruined the friendship,” he said. “I think I just ruined our fucking friendship.”

“No,” you said immediately. It was your turn to take a step closer. “You didn’t.”

Steve slowly looked up at you, taking his time meeting your eyes as if he were afraid. You’d never seen Steve afraid. “I didn’t?”

“No,” you said. “Because I…I love you too. I’m in love with you too.”

You just stared at each other. That damn fountain carrying the whole atmosphere. Steve took another step, and he was standing so close to you you could smell his cologne and aftershave. His head was tilted down, looking into your eyes like he was reading you from the inside out. “You love me?”

It took you a minute to get your bearings. Your heart was pounding now, and you felt like your body was filled with bubbles from the champagne. Light, bubbly, like you could float away or maybe just pop out of existence. You nodded shakily. “Yeah. I…I love you.”

Steve’s forehead came down to gently rest against your own. Then he slowly raised his arm - his hand finding its spot on the side of your neck, cradling your jaw. “You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice so low you could barely hear him. “And I’m in love with you. So, so in love with you. Think I always have been.”

“Steve…”

He shook his head just barely. “Just let me…”

He leaned in those last couple of inches, and then Steve’s lips were pressed against yours. 

When people talk about sparks flying during a kiss, you’d never believed them. It had certainly never happened to you, and you’d kissed plenty of people. But you had never kissed Steve.

He moved his lips against yours so softly and slowly. Like he wanted to feel and savor every second of the kiss, didn’t want to rush. He was hungry for it, but he could take his time. Your hands came to sit on his biceps as his free hand rested on your waist.

It felt so right. It didn’t feel like a first kiss - there was no awkwardness, nothing uncomfortable, just pure passion and love and desire. Steve was a good kisser, too. His tongue traced your lip and you opened for him, his tongue just barely brushing against yours.

Steve let out the slightest breathy moan, like he had finally gotten something he’d been longing for for so long. Your knees wobbled and his grip tightened on your hip, pulling your body closer into his.

“Don’t go fallin’ for me too hard, now,” Steve smirked, his voice so low and deep it gave you chills even though he was being his normal cheesy self.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Harrington,” you said, still breathless from the kiss. Steve only smiled bigger.

He kissed you again, shorter this time. A couple soft pecks against your lips, then a longer press, like he didn’t want to stop. “Be my girlfriend.”

“Are you serious?” you laughed. “How much champagne did you have?”

“Hardly any,” he said, “and I’m dead serious. Did you not just hear me tell you I love you?”

“You meant that?” you whispered.

“‘Course I did,” he whispered back, nudging your nose with his own. “I want you. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. All those shitty dates…my failed love life…” Steve laughed lightly. “And you were right here in front of me the whole time.”

Your expression softened, looking up at Steve with eyes that were somehow glittering in the night. Steve’s breath hitched in his throat - you were quite literally breathtaking.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’ll be your girlfriend.”

Steve’s smile grew. His only reaction was to pull you in again, wrapping his arms around your body as yours went around his neck and he kissed you nice and slow again with all the love in the world, beneath the December stars.

“Can you help me with the potato salad?” Lori asked, already three dishes in her arms and Annie clung to her leg.

“Yeah, of course,” you said, jumping into action. You grabbed the bowl of potato salad along with the ice bucket and followed Lori out into the backyard.

The sun was shining, a perfect Memorial Day. The cousins were splashing in the pool, the older relatives talking as they sat in the warm sun with smiles on their faces and beers or lemonades in their hands. You and Lori put the dishes down on the buffet table. Lori was dressed in a one piece swimsuit with a sheer coverup on top, while you were in your red bikini top with short jean shorts over the bottoms.

“Finally,” Lori said. “I didn’t think the food was ever gonna get done.” She turned to you, hands on her hips as she caught her breath. There had been a lot of running around, and she was five months pregnant. “Thanks for your help.”

“Of course,” you said. “I couldn’t leave you to fend for yourself with the aunts.” Family had come from all over the surrounding states for this Memorial Day reunion, and it was…a lot.

Lori let out a groan. “Thank god for you.”

You squealed as arms wrapped themselves around your body and lifted you into the air. Lori just watched on with a knowing yet amused smile.

“Steve!” you scolded once he’d set you down. You slapped at his arm lightly.

“What?” he said. “I missed you.”

“It’s been like 20 minutes!”

“Tell me about it,” he said, pulling your body into his and kissing you.

“Get a room,” Lori teased, although she was still smiling as she turned and walked away.

“Are you enjoying the party?” you asked Steve as he picked up a deviled egg and popped it into his mouth.

“Yeah,” he said. He chewed and swallowed. “Your family is nice.”

“You weren’t scared to meet the whole family after only 5 months of dating?” You smiled, your hand running over his bare chest.

“‘Course not,” Steve said. “I’ve already been part of the family for years. The extended family didn’t scare me.”

You loved that about Steve. He was so confident and sure of himself. One of endless things you loved about him.

You heard a voice calling your name. Your grandma was approaching, her paper plate piled high with potluck food. “Is this your boyfriend I’ve heard so much about?” she asked with a sly smile as she reached the two of you.

You smiled, looking up at Steve. He beamed back down at you like he’d never been happier in his life, his hand gently rubbing your lower back. “Yeah,” you said. “He is.”

“Hi,” Steve offered her his hand. “Steve. Nice to meet you.”

“He’s a cute one,” she whispered to you, but Steve definitely heard. You were sure he didn’t need the ego boost. “Don’t let him go.”

You leaned your head against Steve’s shoulder, and he squeezed your hip.

Yeah. You didn’t plan on it.

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[strangerstilinski]

smoke me out

𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you and eddie are friends — and really, what's a little shotgunning amongst friends? [ 7.4k ]

𝗰𝘄: friends to lovers, dubcon bc they're high, reader with a vagina & breasts, drug use (weed), smoking & shotgunning, pathetic attempts at dirty talk, unprotected sex, cream pie, and goofy eddie (always)

𝗮/𝗻: the stoner in me came out at the beginning, ngl. this is just a horny culmination of my need to shotgun with eddie and also to rub his sweaty body with my own. and yes, that one part is inspired by the gifs of the hoard scene featuring joe's tight little ass grinding away.

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝟏𝟖+ 𝙚𝙙𝙙𝙞𝙚 𝙢𝙪𝙣𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

It's just you and Eddie today.

You're propped up against the headboard side by side, a nest of pillows providing you both with a cushion from the uncomfortable framework behind your bed. The muted sound of James Hetfield's voice floating through your stereo speakers over a heavy clash of drums and guitar has your head bobbing in time with the beat. Eddie has long-since gone from shredding on air guitar to intently staring at the way his own ringed fingers bend toward his palm every time the pitch shifts incrementally, mentally contemplating the chord changes by ear. 

Despite the windows thrown open on either side of the room, your small apartment reeks of smoke and weed. The humid Indiana summer air filtering through the curtains is not nearly strong enough to properly air out the cramped space. It's one of those wonderfully warm days — peak summertime. Not overly hot, but enough to have your skin prickling with heat beneath a tank top and cotton shorts. 

Eddie is still lounging in a threadbare pair of checkered pajama pants and a cutoff tee, the top half of his hair tied back in a haphazard bun to lessen the weight of the thick curls sticking to his neck. 

Eddie is prone to complaining when it's hot. Or when it's cold. And also when it's rainy. Or windy. 

Point is, you're not sure why he's yet to complain about the lack of air conditioning in your apartment, but Eddie seems content as ever. It could have something to do with the little glass pipe the two of you have been passing back and forth all afternoon. The bowl on the end had been packed tight, more than enough weed to have both of you thoroughly stoned, well before it's even finished.

The ceiling fan is stirring up the faintest breeze. You've burned yourself thrice on a rogue, billowing flame while trying to light up. The circulating air keeps pushing an errant dark curl down over Eddie's face every time he dips his head to take a hit.. You've combed it back for him four times, already—God forbid he set his hair on fire. Again. You're not sure he's even noticed the way your hand lingers on that smooth strip of skin behind his ear just a little longer each time.

But you can't help it, not with the way everything's gone a little foggy at the edges. Your eyes seem to process your surroundings in near slow-motion, all while the world shines with a barely-perceptible gleam. The last twenty minutes the two of you have spent smoking have done wonders to soften the world around you. Your head is full of air in that familiarly pleasant way that leaves you feeling a bit like you might float away at any second. Like a balloon in the sky. And with the added bonus of Eddie by your side, you're entirely relaxed. Contented.  

Weak beneath the lazy weight of your high pressing in on you, you suddenly flop your weight down sideways across the bed, your head landing over Eddie's thighs. You blink slow up at him, hazy gaze focusing on the underside of Eddie's face while he brings his bony knees up from the mattress to cage you a little closer to his chest. The angle would be outrageous were you looking up at anyone else, you're sure, but Eddie..

He's so pretty.

All rogue-ish boy. Unkempt and wild, but still entirely beautiful.

You can't help the way your hand finds its way up, up, up. Your fingertips dancing across the barely-there five o'clock shadow on the edge of his jaw. You trace the hard line all the way from his chin to his ear, his stubble scratchy and wholly soothing when you lightly scrape your nails against the grain of it.

Eddie, on the other hand, has found himself entirely focused on the way gravity has moved your breasts in your new position below him. The awkward angle has carried them up and out, bra-less and soft and hypnotizing. They shift just a little every time your hand moves across his face. The tank top you've chosen to wear today is thin, indecently so, in his opinion. His brown eyes have been glued to the obvious outline of your nipples beneath the fabric since the moment you'd greeted him at the door, and his ogling has only gotten less subtle as his high settled in. He risks another longing glance down past your collar bones, reddened eyes dragging over the shape of your puffy nipples hidden underneath.

You're thumbing softly at the coarse hairs just under his chin when Eddie gives in to impulse and  purses his lips to blow a cool breath of air over your neck and chest. You can't help but giggle as your skin reacts, goosebumps spreading down your arms, and unbeknownst to you, your nipples tightening into semi-hard peaks beneath your top.

They're not the only things that are suddenly semi-hard. 

Eddie smacks his lips and swallows the drool that he's embarrassed to admit has pooled beneath his tongue. His ring-clad knuckles brush the side of your breast as he reaches to take the forgotten bowl from the blankets. 

He attempts to gather himself as he takes another hit. He holds it for a count of five and then exhales a cloud of smoke whilst urging himself to imagine something utterly repulsive.. His uncle in the shower, roadkill, the way his balls itch uncomfortably after he plays a gig at The Hideout in too-tight jeans — anything that might keep him from popping an unwanted boner while you've got your pretty, unassuming head resting in his lap.

Your fingers are now trailing lightly over the light freckles dotting the bridge of Eddie's nose. His skin is a little pink from yesterday's sun, despite the number of times you'd physically dragged him from Steve's pool to apply sunscreen to his steadily-reddening cheeks. The previous day outside has Eddie's barely-there freckles appearing far more visible than usual, speckled along the round tip of his nose, his cheeks, even the crinkles around his eyes. You think they make him look even more handsome, boyish perhaps, but handsome all the same.

Through the warm fog in your brain, you find yourself smiling up at him. A dopey grin on your face as you poke at the soft apples of his cheeks — Like he's your own personal plaything. Your heart ticks excitedly when the corner of Eddie's lips quirk up at you in response, his pupils blown wide, surrounded by a thin ring of molten chocolate. His teeth flash with his sweet little chuckle of amusement, cheeks dimpling beneath the sparsest area of his stubble.

“You've got freckles,” You comment quietly. “They're cute.” You smack your lips once, mouth dry with dehydration, “I like 'em.. 'nd your stubble, too. Feels nice.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Eddie chuckles, stoned and more than a bit flattered under the weight of your attention. His chest puffs up a little proudly, his words flowing without any real thought behind them, “Made it all myself.. 'S hard work.. But, uh, y'know. Someone's gotta do it.”

He slips his lighter between two of his fingers and holds the bowl off to the side so that he can drag the fingers of his free hand softly, delicately, over your hair where it's fanned out over his lap. He doesn't want to mess it up, especially doesn't want one of his rings to get caught and pull. But it looks so soft, and through the haze, he can't fight the impulse to simply.. touch. So gently. 

His attention seems intently focused on the careful motions of his fingers along your hair, and you take advantage of his distraction by finally allowing your gaze to drop to his mouth. Eddie keeps slowly rolling and biting his lips between his teeth. Canines dig into the flesh before he's scrunching his nose and pursing his lips, only to scrape his teeth over them again in a never-ending loop. You doubt he's even aware he's doing it but it's beginning to make his lips swell, the skin darkening to a brighter shade of pink from the abuse.

All at once, your trance is broken when his tongue pokes out to wet his smoke-dry lips. Your mind flashes suddenly with an idea. 

The absence of both the Hellfire crew and your other friends was truly a rarity. You hardly ever got to be alone with Eddie like this. You'd tried to ask him out once upon a time- No, not just once. Twice. Twice you'd asked him on a date — both of which had somehow ended in group excursions rather than romantic one-on-one time, how it had happened two separate times, you still weren't sure — and at this point you'd given up entirely. Because maybe it just wasn't meant to be. It was okay, really, you'd almost grown content in your longing. 

But, the way Eddie's lips shone lightly after his tongue stroked over them.. It had your brain reeling with possibility. If you were ever going to get his mouth on yours in private, even just for a fleeting moment, it didn't seem possible that an opportunity so seamless would ever present itself again.

It was worth a shot.

“I want another hit.” You tell him, licking at your own lips as brown eyes refocus on your face.

“M'kay, well, you're prob'ly gonna need to sit up for that, sweets,” Eddie points out, entirely unaware of the way your tummy always swoops when the thoughtless pet name falls from his lips. “Unless you were really lookin' t'get a face full'a ash.. In which case, you can definitely keep layin-” A burst of air leaves his nose with a laugh of surprise, repeating his own words to himself with a sweetly boyish giggle, “Sounds like ass. Face full'a ass. Now, that I'd like-”

Normally you'd join in on the joke. Poke a little fun at him for saying such a thing. Freak. You'd say it fondly, with an eye roll to go with it, maybe you'd throw in a half-serious offer involving his face and your backside- But you don't say any of those things. You can't. You're in the middle making the not-so-carefully crafted scene in your head a reality — And, can't he see that? Why is he trying to distract you? 

“Ash. Riiight, uh huh. Well,” You pause, feign innocence before your next words. “Maybe.. Maybe you could shotgun it to me n' that way I can stay right here?” You suggest cautiously, before adding as an afterthought, “If you want, I mean.” 

Any amusement is immediately stripped from Eddie's expression. He spends a few achingly long seconds blinking down at you with heavy eyelids, gaze hooded and distant. His weed-hazy brain takes a moment to actually process your words, but then, just as suddenly as he'd zoned out, he's nodding and bringing the glass pipe back up to his lips, one hand cupped around the end to shield the flame from the path of the ceiling fan.

The lighter clicks and swishes quietly as he lights up. He lowers the bowl after a long second, ringed hand dipping beneath your head and guiding you oh-so gently to arch your neck upward, until he can lean down and press his mouth down softly against yours. 

That first soft brush of his lips has your whole body thrumming. Butterflies begin a rampage in your stomach, so much so that you have to actively remind yourself to part your lips beneath his.

He presses down just a bit more, lips squishing solidly to your own parted ones and sending your heart racing dangerously, but then he's exhaling the smoke into your waiting mouth. You breathe it in as it comes, letting the warmth of it flow from his body and into your own.

He watches you intently as he moves to pull back and sit upright again. Watches the way you seal your mouth shut, lips rolling between your teeth while your lashes flutter against the apples of your cheeks. You allow the smoke to simply sit in your lungs for a long moment before relaxing your chest and exhaling through your nose, releasing the diluted cloud up into the air between you. 

Eddie blinks down at you with heavy lids. There's a long moment of silence between you. It's a palpable thing — not quite awkward or tense, but brimming with an unexpected energy that neither one of you can quite decipher. It's charged. Something like static electricity, or the tether between two magnets of an opposite charge. It nearly tingles in the breadth of space between you.

Eddie feels it. He wonders if you feel it too.

“D'you want another hit?” He asks after a minute, his voice scratchy.

You merely nod your head, not trusting your own voice, and the movement has you refocusing suddenly on the soft press of his calloused fingers where they linger against the nape of your neck. You watch with bated breath as Eddie brings the glass pipe in his hand back to his lips again, letting his gentle grip fall from the top of your spine for just a moment so that he can flick the flame of the lighter over the tiny pocket at the end of the pipe once again. 

Eddie drops the items in his hands to your bedside table carelessly once he's gotten a good lungful of smoke. He leans down in a faster movement this time than he had done before, his hand dipping back beneath your head in a flash to bring your mouths together again.

His lips are dry against your own, but so soft. You're not sure if it's the high or simply Eddie, but the barely-there scratch of stubble over his upper lip is delicious. It feels so good it makes you a little lightheaded. 

Your mouth slips open, inhaling as he exhales. You feel the warmth of the smoke entering your mouth, taste the bitterness of it on your tongue as the two of you fit together like puzzle pieces.

You're preparing to let your craned neck fall back to his lap, to close your lips in an effort to keep the smoke inside of your lungs — but then Eddie is tightening his grip on the back of your head incrementally, and instead of pulling back, he slots your lips together more firmly. Your heart skips in surprise and you can practically hear the blood pumping in your ears. Your brain seems to white out for a moment, unable to focus on anything that isn't Eddie's soft lips moving tentatively against your own. 

A thin cloud of smoke escapes into the air around you as your mouths begin to move together in synchrony. You can't hold back a soft gasp of surprise when Eddie's tongue swipes warmly across the seam of your lips. Your heart pounds, your mouth opening beneath his again without hesitation. 

The kiss that follows is a frenzied rush of lips and teeth and tongue. Hunger blossoms in the pit of your stomach. But it somehow manages to feel so languid, so sensual beneath the relaxed fogginess of your high. 

Your back arches, shoulders lifting from Eddie's thigh to meet him more than halfway. The movement prompts his hands to find your hips and Eddie is tugging you upright in a flash. Suddenly you're wedged between his legs, practically in his lap. Your knees curling around his waist as he leans farther into your space, chasing your warmth until barely any space exists between you. 

Your hands slide idly along his body in a slow trail. Each scrape against your palms feels divine. Every inch of him feels like silk under your fingers. The smooth, worn cotton of his tshirt. The tight ringlets of curls at the nape of his neck, a little damp with sweat. The soft give of warm muscle beneath your eager hands on his chest, his arms, his hips. You attempt to memorize every inch of him, your limbs seemingly moving of their own accord, touch-hungry and weightless all at once. 

He's so warm and- God, you want to be inside of him. You think you might want to bury yourself beneath his skin and make a home there. He smells like heaven, like sweat and weed and masculine body wash. Your fingertips drag leisurely along the length of his inked arms, inching slow back toward his neck like you have all the time in the world to explore every inch of his body. 

Your touch is scorching across his skin, overwhelming and seemingly everywhere at once but simultaneously not enough. It's like all of his wildest dreams have come to life, and Eddie can't fucking believe that this is happening. That you're practically in his lap, your tongue in his mouth, legs draped around his waist, hands tucked beneath the gaping sleeves of his muscle tee to roam freely and grope at the exposed skin of his hips.

Eddie's head cranes just a bit to the side in an attempt to deepen the kiss, licking his way deeper. His own arms curl around your waist, tightening at the curve of your spine to tug your body flush against his. The action has a needy noise pushing its way into his mouth as your tongues explore one another with warm, wet licks. He groans at a particularly slow curl of your tongue, he swears he feels it in his fucking balls. 

He's so turned on he thinks his dick might explode. Eddie changes your position in another quick movement, holding you flush to his chest before he's directing you to lie back against the mattress and slotting himself right there  between your thighs. 

Despite the way your head has gone a little fuzzy from lack of oxygen, you can't find it in yourself to pull away from him. All you can do is slide your hands from Eddie's shoulders and up into his hair. Tingles shoot from your fingertips as they slide into his frizzy curls, yanking some of them free from his bun just to feel the way they tangle around your fingers. A hot flush of arousal pulses in your cunt at the satisfied noise that Eddie lets out when you tug lightly, and that noise alone has you suddenly frantic. 

You can't get enough of him; his sounds, his taste, the press of his warm body between your thighs.  

The hand he isn't using to support himself against the mattress rubs along your waist of its own accord, his fingertips slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to brush featherlight over your skin. You swear sparks erupt in his wake. 

You pull back just enough to murmur his name desperately against his lips, but the syllables are barely out before you're licking into his mouth again with unbridled hunger. Eddie's groan meets your ears in response to your weak plea — what you're begging for, you're not quite sure, but then his hips drop against yours with a slow roll and that- 

Oh, that is exactly what you needed.

You can't help the soft whimper that falls into his mouth. The warm line of his half-hard cock pressing against your cunt through the thin barrier of your pajama bottoms has you dizzy. Eddie grinds hips against yours in another slow roll, clothed erection pressing soft into your cunt and prompting the seam on your shorts to nudge at your clit. You both groan in sync, parted lips barely brushing through the breathless sounds.

You also can't help the way you lift your hips in time with each grind of his length against you. The warm weight of his balls squishes against the fabric of your shorts every time his pelvis drags over your own. The thin cotton feels far too thick of a barrier currently between you and his cock. 

Ringed fingers sneak up a little farther beneath your shirt, his hand tightening over your naked breast, and you keen at the feeling. He alternates between brushing the calloused pad of his thumb over your nipple and covering the area with his palm to give it a soft squeeze. His lips fall slack against your own, too busy focussing on the way his fingers release and then grope again and again, the kind of distracted intrigue that could only be a result of his high.

A soft whine falls from your lips after a minute of putting up with his lazy fondling. You tug at the hair between your fingers again and nip encouragingly at his lips in a silent plea for a kiss. His mouth finally resumes moving against your own, and you gratefully allow him to direct the kiss. You give him full control of the pace, which turns out to be a give and take of desperate licks into your mouth followed by gentle caresses of his spit-slick lips against your own. Lips smack each time you part, tongues sliding together wetly, heaving breaths rush in and out of your noses as you both attempt to pull as much oxygen in as humanly possible in an effort to not break apart.  

Your fingers find the knob of his spine, and you tug on the collar at the back of his shirt in silent question. Eddie answers by pushing back up on his knees to yank the fabric over his head in a quick movement. His tattooed chest heaves with slightly labored breaths and you watch him with rapt attention, your eyes drawn to the tiny patch of hair nestled between his pecs and lightly dusted around his nipples. Then your focus drops to the thicker trail that leads down into the waistband of his pants. The pale skin beneath the hair glistens with sweat, and good God you want to taste it-

But you're only granted a few seconds to ogle his torso before Eddie is dipping back down to catch your lips with his, your mouths immediately separating just enough that he can strip you of your own top. 

As soon as your naked chest is exposed to him, Eddie is dragging his lips down your body in a slow trail. He pauses for a moment to kiss a spot just below your ear, his voice raspy when he speaks, “You good? This alright?” He checks quietly. 

You reach up to tangle a hand in his hair again, a breathless sigh leaving your lips as you feel the warmth of his mouth pressing against your neck, “Good, yeah. Very, very alright.” 

Eddie wastes no time, his lips trailing lower. He leaves a series of wet, open-mouthed kisses to your exposed breasts, relishing in the way you react to his mouth, the way your spine arches up from the mattress at the attention. 

“Jesus H. Christ. 's incredible,” Eddie mumbles, his words slurred against your chest as he bites and sucks at the skin on the side of your breast. His head has gone hazy with lust, his fingers slipping beneath your body to grab a desperate fistful of your ass, “Hand to God. I swear, I've never fuckin' seen more perfect-”

You interrupt the filth spewing from his mouth with an entirely unintentional moan, slightly overwhelmed by the influx of sensations. His praise in your ears. The feeling of his fingertips sinking into the plush of your ass. The prominent bulge in his bottoms dragging against you. 

Eddie curses under his breath, taking your nipple into his mouth and biting down softly before immediately soothing his tongue over it in apology.

Your brain is a little fuzzy. Sweetly faded and hazy at the edges, but somehow, each touch and sound between the two of you feels heightened — Magnified and all that more intense. As if your high has somehow managed to mute everything on earth except for Eddie. 

You release his hair in favor of sliding your hands down his back to grope the globes of his ass over his pajama bottoms while his hips continue to rock forward in a dizzying rhythm. A knead to the flesh there has Eddie whining sinfully against your tongue and your pussy fucking throbs in response.

"Baby," Eddie pants into your mouth, his voice nearly cracking with need, "Take 'em off, please- Baby? c'n we-?"

He doesn't finish the question but you nod, nose brushing against his as your hands slip underneath the waistband of his pants. Your fingers are very nearly trembling while you shove the fabric down below the curve of his ass. 

You feel the moment that his cock springs free and you immediately have to crane your neck down to take a peek — The urge to see him is too strong. And God is it a glorious sight. 

Flushed red at the tip and achingly hard— Jesus it's thick, gloriously thick. His pubes are dark and untamed around the base, hiding just how big he truly is. It's the most gorgeous cock you've ever fucking seen and it's bumping softly against the crotch of your shorts, wetting the fabric with smeared pre-cum that Eddie's fucking leaked over the head. He's wet with need, same as you, and the thought makes you feel fucking insane. 

Which means you ogle perhaps longer than you should. 

A needy grumble rises in Eddie's throat that has you snapping out of it suddenly and bringing a hand up into the narrow space between your faces. It takes a moment with the dryness of smoke lingering on your tongue, but you manage to gather enough spit to lick a wet stripe up your palm and fingers, and then you're reaching down to curl your fingers around him. 

Half-naked is practically Eddie's default state when he's stoned or drunk, you've drooled over just the outline of him in his underwear more times than you can count, but you're still somehow surprised by the sheer size of him in your hand. The weight of him. Long and curved just a little to the right — so silky and so soft under the slippery glide of your fist. You work your hand slow over him, rewarded with a beautiful little groan of thanks from the man above you, the sound of it guttural as you begin to jerk him with slick strokes. 

“Ohhh my god, that- that's, j-jesus-” His voice fucking cracks. 

Eddie's hips jump as he fucks into your fist. His eyes roll back, a little delirious just from the sight of your smaller hand wrapped around him. You switch from long strokes in favor of shorter ones where you can focus your attention on his tip, your thumb swiping back and forth over the head of his cock with each flick of your wrist. Eddie doesn't even recognize the sounds leaving his mouth. The combination of his high and the wet glide of your hand is too maddening to care. 

You make your own small noise of amazement that has Eddie coming back to himself suddenly. He yanks your shorts down your thighs with an impatient huff, pulling away from you just long enough to discard the last of both of your clothing before he's caging you back against the mattress once again. And then his lips are making their way to your neck, kissing and sucking lightly between these oh-so pretty little groans against your throat, his hips bucking restlessly into your own all the while. 

You give an eager cant of your hips, feet pressing into the mattress until the tip of Eddie's cock brushes the seam of your cunt. Eddie makes another sweet little noise of surprise that has you draping an arm around his neck, your face pressing into his shoulder as you repeat the movement with intention. 

You want him so bad your pussy fucking aches. 

“Ed, can we, please?” You whisper desperately into his skin. 

The question is barely out before he's nodding against your throat, bracing his knees and lining himself up with your hole. His hips push forward until just the tip of his cock presses into the wet heat of your cunt, but good lord-

He's so big. It feels a bit like he's splitting you right down the middle, but it's so good. He rocks his hips forward slowly, each little push stretching you wider than you thought possible. Every time you think he can't possibly have more to give you, he slips in a little deeper. He reaches so far inside of you that your eyes roll back, a long, drawn-out moan tearing past your lips at the slow stretch, the dull fullness behind your navel that you can nearly feel in your throat. 

“Oh, fuck.” You whine breathlessly, hands scrambling for purchase along his skin. Your nails bite into the sweat-slick muscles of his back before slipping lower still. You find the dimples at the base of his spine, nails raking over the pale white skin of his hips and ass. Your whole body goes lax underneath him as the wiry bush of his pubes finally meets your own. 

The noise Eddie releases into the curve of your shoulder borders on a whimper, his breath hot against your skin as he rocks his hips forward again and again. His weight pushes you deeper into the mattress, his cock grinding desperately against the absolute deepest parts of you. He gasps with each nudge of your cervix against the head of his cock, practically humping you through the haze of his high as he tries to give you time to adjust to his size. 

“Y'good?” Eddie pants into your neck, words slurred together with need. He feels half a second from fucking begging when your legs spread further, your thighs falling back toward the mattress and allowing him even deeper and holy fucking shit. “Ohh, c'n I move?” He’s all but whining now, “Please. God, please can I-” 

“Uh huh, 'm good, 'm good, I-” Your assurances cut off with a wail when he begins to pull back and drive in again with a sharp snap of his hips. Your fingers tighten where his hairy thighs meet his ass, nails biting into taut muscle in an attempt to ground yourself. “Ohmygod.” You whine, eyes glazing over with the heat that pools behind your navel with each thrust.

“Y'feel so good.” Eddie mumbles, slack mouth pressed to the sensitive spot below your ear. 

He pushes up on his elbows, but only enough that you can gape up at him with hooded eyes, brows furrowed with just how fucking good he feels. 

“Fuucck, y're pretty,” Eddie groans between deep thrusts, his words drawing a moan from your lips. He brings one hand to your cheek, thumb pushing into the plush cushion of your swollen lips before he's covering them with his own in a messy kiss, “Y're so hot. So. fucking. perfect.” 

His words are spoken quietly against your lips between thrusts, his nose squishing your own in close proximity, and you draw him back down to your mouth in a hungry kiss, teeth clashing. 

The pace Eddie has set is intoxicating, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming his hips forward to fill you up again with deep thrusts. Your moans are loud, wanton and uncontrollable under the haze of your high, only somewhat muffled by Eddie's mouth covering yours. 

In a frenzy, you find yourself kissing away the sweat beading on his upper lip. You lave your tongue softly over the light prickle of stubble at his cupid’s bow, but you're only granted a moment to relish in the scratch of it before Eddie is nosing at your cheek and urging you back into a scorching, albeit distracted, kiss. His fingers wrap around your upper thigh to hitch your leg a little higher on his hip, rocking his hips forward again and managing to hit impossibly deeper inside of you. He drives into that spongey spot behind your navel and you writhe-

“Oh-” You gasp into his mouth in surprise, head gone fuzzy as he continues fucking your at the new angle, “Eddie!  I, fuck-” 

He responds with a groan. His lips leave yours to forge a trail of biting kisses over your skin. He wants to kiss you everywhere. He wishes he could kiss every inch of your skin and still keep fucking you. You're weak to do anything but lie there and take it and it makes Eddie feel dizzy with power. Your arms curl around his shoulders again, head thrown back against the bed in ecstasy. 

Eddie's mouth is seemingly everywhere, lips sucking at the underside of your jaw, tongue leaving a wet trail over your collarbones and throat, teeth sinking into the curve of your shoulder. Each new sensation sends another spark of arousal down your spine, sends your brain farther into the clouds. 

It’s almost too much. It has you tightening your thighs around his hips and rolling sideways over the bed to switch positions, his cock slipping free as you find yourself straddling his waist with only a slight wobble from the momentum. Eddie makes a quiet noise of surprise and petulance, but it melts into a grateful, high-keening moan when you sink back down onto him. Your hips press flush to his as you set a new, slower rhythm of your own making. 

“Oh, Jesus,” Eddie whines in amazement, hands tracing over the curve of your waist and breasts as you rock back and forth onto him, “Shit. You look so good like this.” His praise comes out through heaving breaths.

You rest one hand supportively over the sparse hair at the center of his chest, the fingers of your other hand trailing up the skin of his arm until you can tangle your hands together against the mattress. You grind your hips down harder, deeper, and Eddie groans, his hips bucking up unconsciously to meet you halfway. 

Your forearms fall on either side of his head. Your weight pressing down against his chest has Eddie immediately fisting your ass and thighs in a bruising grip to help guide your movements. You lean down to bury your face in his neck as you slide back and forth along his length in a slow rhythm, your legs already aching with exertion even with the help of his strong arms.

The loud slapping of skin meeting skin every time the backs of your thighs meet his own rings loudly in your ears. Your staggered breathing falls against his lightly stubbled jaw, lips leaving distracted kisses in apology for the way your hot breath fans out against his already sweaty neck. 

“God, Eds,” You moan into his skin, sucking a mark against his throat while he uses his tight grip on your hips to fuck you down onto himself, “You feel. So f-fucking good-” 

You let out a yelp as Eddie twists your bodies again with a grunt, and suddenly his body above yours once more, his hand on your shoulder as he sinks back inside of you.

“Need it faster. Harder.” He pants, “That okay?” 

You nod, head rubbing against the mattress, “Yes. Please, yeah-” 

Eddie trails his fingers down the back of your thigh and guides you to wrap your legs around his waist, and then he’s fucking into you in quick, punishing thrusts. Your moans only increase in volume at the change of pace, your whole body seemingly flushed with heat. Your hands scrape desperately over Eddie's back as he pounds into you, nails cutting into pale skin. 

“Shit,” Eddie groans, his forehead dropping down against yours in an unexpectedly tender movement, though it does little to take away from the sound of your bedframe creaking, the wet squelch every time he drives back into you. “God, 're you close?” He asks desperately.

“Uh-huh.” You confirm immediately, brain hazy and muscles tensing with each hard thrust that brings you closer and closer to your peak. 

Eddie's nose rubs soft along your cheekbone as he nods, joining your mouths in a kiss that's more breath and tongue than anything else. You struggle to focus on moving your mouth against his as your orgasm begins to creep into the corners of your vision. Eddie's weight drops down onto one elbow to allow him the stability to reach in between you. His hand settles over your pelvis, his fingers swiping messy over your clit as his quick thrusts grow shakier. 

“C'mon, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs against your lips, “C'mon, I really-” He's cut off by the groan that rumbles up his throat when you pulse around him, the sound entirely animalistic. “Goddd. N-need you t' fuckin' cum, baby, please.” 

His voice has gone husky with arousal and exertion, the sound has your eyes rolling back. It only takes a handful more thrusts like that, with the help of his fingertips tracing light circles over your clit. Your whole body tenses as your orgasm crashes over you, legs clamping around his hips. You whine brokenly in his mouth, a sharp gasp immediately following as you scrape your fingers down his shoulders, your whole body shaking as you come undone around him. 

The increased tightness of your muscles spurs on Eddie’s own orgasm within a few thrusts, and then he's following you over the edge. He buries his face in the curve of your neck as he cums with a whine, hips stuttering twice before burying deep. His weight crushes you to the mattress, your back arching at the warmth of his release filling you. Your eyes water with the strength of your orgasm, Eddie's hips unconsciously grinding into your own as he rides out his own, whimpering into your ear with the aftershocks. 

You both remain unmoving for a long minute, sweaty chests heaving as you struggle to catch your breath and come back to yourself. You card gently through Eddie's sweaty hair, his curls having long since broken free from the hair tie that had once held them back from his face. You fingers trail thoughtlessly through the damp tresses while Eddie's hot breath fans out over your neck. His dick twitches inside you when your fingertips scrape softly against his scalp and you struggle to bite back a quiet laugh of amusement. Your muscles tense even with the smothered laugh, and Eddie groans as your cunt pulses around him. 

He huffs when he catches the look on your face, entirely dramatic as he begins to roll away, but he only maintains that feigned annoyance for about half a second before he's cackling madly and dragging you into his chest. He nips sharply at your shoulder as he tugs you into his sweaty chest and buries his face in your hair, fingers beginning to trace soft shapes over the skin of your hip. 

“You feelin' okay?” He murmurs after a moment. 

“Yeah,” You confirm with a sigh, already relaxing into his touch. Your brain is pleasantly dulled from the combination of the lingering high and your orgasm. “Yeah, 'm great.” 

“Oh, same, yeah. Super great. I just, uh-” Eddie pauses and you find yourself focussing on the gentle caress of his fingers along your skin, “I wanted to check, y'know.. Make sure you weren't havin' any.. I dunno, just, regrets-”

You're readjusting in a flash so that you can look at him directly, your head settling onto his bicep as your eyes flick between his, “I don't. Regret it, I mean.” 

It feels much too serious of a conversation to be having considering how deliriously high you currently feel, the previous strenuous activity did little to clear your head, but you mean it with every fiber of your being. You've been hung up on Eddie for what feels like forever now, the thought of him outright regretting the events of the last hour- It has you feeling sick, stomach sinking and twisting and souring all at once.

Eddie's throat bobs as he swallows, “Just, I mean.. Y're real stoned and- Shit. I, fuck. I probably shouldn't've-”

“Eddie,” You cut him off, feeling desperate with the need to reassure him, “You smoked just as much as I did—probably more. I-I wanted this. I wanted it, like, really bad. Unless..” Your heart drops, “Do.. Do you regret-?”

“No!” Eddie disagrees immediately, and vehemently — With urgency to correct you. “No. No, sweetheart, I do not regret it. Could never regret you. I mean, that was- Shit, I've been wanting to do that since-”

Your hand finds the warmth of his chest, fingers scraping at the small tattoo there, “You have?” 

Eddie nods his head against the blankets, sweaty curls sticking up every which way around his head like a messy halo, “Yeah.” 

“Does that mean.. I mean, would you maybe wanna do it again sometime? But, like, when we're not high as all hell?” 

Eddie's dimpled grin has an embarrassingly wild burst of butterflies erupting inside of you, “Yeah. Yeah, I really do.”

You lay like that for a while, pressed together despite the heat. His fingers wander over your palms, tracing the lines there while you watch the way his rings shift. Your naked bodies separated only by a thin layer of sweat. The ceiling fan pushing light waves of blessedly cool air over your skin. 

After a few minutes Eddie suddenly tears himself out of your grip, and he does it so abruptly that your brain is hardly able to comprehend the loss of him. He lets out a quiet yelp of distress and nearly collapses face-first into the blankets in a mad scramble toward your legs. He manhandles you until you're sprawled on your back, pushing your thighs apart before flopping entirely ungracefully onto his belly in the narrow space he's made between them. 

As you push up onto your elbows to peer down at him, Eddie is simply stroking his fingers soft up and down the length of your cum-soaked folds. His eyes are alight with wonder while he watches his own spend begin to leak out. One of his thumbs catches it as it falls, and he pulls his hand back for just a moment to get a better look at the pearlescent mixture of your combined cum. 

“What're you doing?” You giggle after a long moment of simply watching him.

Eddie's head snaps up with such surprise it looks as if he might've forgotten you were even there, if such a thing were possible. 

“Just, uh.. Admiring my handiwork.” He grins like he's all-too pleased with himself, dimples poking into his cheeks. 

“It's our handiwork, actually,” You correct playfully, “Half of that's mine, and- No, wait. Actually, 's all mine now.” You tell him triumphantly.

His eyes narrow in confusion and you redirect your gaze pointedly. His attention follows your own, eyes flicking briefly toward his own hand, where the cum has begun to drip slow down his thumb toward the meat of his palm. 

“What, this?” He questions in amusement. 

“Yes that.” You tell him with a frown, “'s mine.” You have to bite back an honest-to-god cackle at the entirely contrived look of betrayal on his face. “Put it back.” You challenge. 

Eddie's eyes roll in irritation as he repeats your words mockingly, his voice thrown high in an exceptionally poor imitation of your own, but he does dutifully drop his hand down between your thighs again to attempt to push the cum back inside you. 

He looks pleased as punch once he's done. He looks at your cunt with a dopey grin on his face, cheeks still pink with exertion and hair wild. 

“Don't miss me too much, pretty. A'right? I'll be seein' you again real soon.” Eddie murmurs softly, eyes never once leaving your cunt. He punctates his words by pressing a gentle kiss to your mound, just a hair's breadth from your clit. 

And then that dumb, dazed smile takes over his face again. 

You squint down at him, “Was.. Were you talking to me or my-”

“Was talkin' to this pretty pussy.” Eddie says matter of factly, stroking his hand over the coarse hairs between your thighs in the way one might pet an animal. 

“Okay.” You manage, laughter preventing you from saying anything else. 

Eddie tugs a large chunk of loose curls across his face and lays his cheek to your upper thigh. He stays like that for a moment, hidden behind the curtain of his hair, big brown eyes blown about as wide as he can manage through his high.

 “..Do you still wanna fuck me?” 

He pouts. It's ridiculous. It's adorable.

You can't pretend to mull it over for more than a few seconds, your cheeks ache with the need to smile. He makes you so happy you feel borderline deranged. 

Your lips quirk up even as you sigh dramatically, “Regrettably? Yes.”  

He fucking cheers. 

He drums his hands enthusiastically against your thighs and yells so loud in victory that all you can do is laugh and cover your ears until he's finished. 

You don't regret it, not a goddamn bit.

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[munsonify]

hey!! i was rewatching season 3 and steve is just so cute, im sorry but if he tried to flirt with me at scoops ahoy, i would say yes!! i was thinking about a fic where they knew of each other in high school but were never friends then she runs into him working at scoops ahoy and he starts flirting BUT SHE ACTUALLY IS LIKE FLIRTING BACK AND HES SO FLUSTERED. and like they go out and it’s lowkey cute and afterwards is just some good classic steve smut

MUCH LOVE 💕

hey!! i adore this idea!! i’ve always loved season 3 steve and idc what anyone else says. sending love and apologies for taking so long, i hope you enjoyed this!!! (this fic ended up way longer than i expected im so sorry i dragged some of this shit on).

shoots and scoops

pairing. steve harrington x fem!reader

summary. after steve boldly starts flirting with you - his old classmate - at scoops ahoy, you take the opportunity and run with it.

warning/s. 18+ smut mdni, harmless flirty banter, possible ooc steve, steve calling r honey, steve calling r an idiot (affectionate), kissing/making out, hickeys, body worship kind of? (f!&m!receiving), oral (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), handjob, piv sex (protected), hand holding during sex, alludes to aftercare

word count. 6560

———

“well ahoy beautiful!”

your first instinct was to laugh - a deep, chest heavy chuckle that startled you when you felt it coming. you choked it down quickly, a slight wheeze slipping out in replace. it sounded slightly of a scoff.

the man standing in front of you was the last person you’d think would be flirting with you. steve harrington, whose hair was finally being constrained in a lousy sailor hat, stood with a flirtatious smile that has never been thrown your way. you know he hated how flat it looked, even if you barely spoke to him during high school. the man who always had every strand of hair placed perfectly would be caught dead before messing with his routine.

that was until now, which you assumed was not his choice.

it was a split second decision for you to respond the way you did. what the hell, right?

“ahoy handsome. nice hat,” you teased with a giggle. your eyes were bright behind your lashes as you look up at the man. he knew then he was a goner. a lump formed in his throat and his cheeks tinted pink quickly as he reaches up and takes it off.

you hear steve mumble something about a ‘stupid uniform’ as he drops the hat to the ground. in a weak attempt to try and redeem himself, he starts to ramble, moving away from your last comment. you’d never seen him get this way.

admittedly, you loved it.

“what can i get you, sweetheart? u.s.s. butterscotch? a banana split? plain chocolate? my number?”

you giggled at his last offer. for a second you thought, and for a second or two longer you faking-ly thought some more. you needed to make sure you didn’t come off as desperate. or at least too desperately.

you were honestly loving this attention.

“depends. how much does the latter cost?” offering him a sweet grin.

“just a date with me.”

your grin grew, and you knew you couldn’t resist.

“give me a scoop of u.s.s. butterscotch too and we’ll call it a deal.”

———

the moment you left with his number in one hand and a bowl of ice cream in the other, steve whipped around to find robin. he found her with her whiteboard propped up, marker with the cap still on. he was quick to snatch it from her hand, putting down two tallies under ‘you rule’.

“two? steve it was one girl,” robin protested, trying to wipe away the second tally. steve was quicker, moving the board to sit next to his discarded hat.

“she flirted back and i bagged a date with her. that deserves two.” he spun around to face the front of the store again, smoothing his hair back with a smug smirk. “i’m so back.”

———

a soft knock at your front door made your heart skip a beat. it’d been two days since you’d ran into steve at scoops, the flimsy napkin he wrote his number on the back of still on your nightstand, folded neatly. his voice sounded more smooth and confident over the phone. you could tell he talked himself up before answering to cool his nerves.

you checked yourself out in the mirror in passing, before moving to the door, opening it after a long, deep breath.

there steve was, hair done in his usual way. he wore a nice, short sleeved shirt that showed off his freckles biceps nicely, and a pair of his nicest blue jeans. you nearly poked fun at him for finally covering up his thighs, but you stopped yourself at the sight of the flowers in his hands. you settled on something a little less narrow. you definitely didn’t want him to think you were staring at him or anything.

“hey there sailor,” you greeted with a small smile, your eyes bright as you stare up at him. you tried looking in his eyes to avoid his toned arms, though his eyes were just as disarming. they’re a warm honey that make you fold.

“hey you,” his smile was just as pretty as his eyes. steve held the flowers in front of him, and you noticed how tight his grip was on the stems. was he as nervous as you were right now?

your heart skipped another beat at the way your fingers brushed against his when he passes you the flowers. in a desperate attempt to contain yourself, you welcomed him in and thanked him, rushing around to find a vase to set the beautiful flowers inside of. you weren’t worried about cutting the stems down or filling it with water just yet, only worried about your heart not falling out of your chest and straight into steve’s hands.

whether good or bad, you knew this was gonna be a long night.

———

it was a sweet night. steve treated you to dinner and a drive-in movie in which you spoke through most of. much to your surprise, you found it very easy to talk to the man. he was easy going in a way he never was in high school. his usual nonchalant attitude wasn’t as prominent anymore. you liked it.

“ya know,” steve whispered, leaning over towards you. his lips were right next to your face, only a few inches away from gracing your skin as he spoke. you were glad it was so dark, hopefully your blush wasn’t too prominent. “i betcha i could do that.”

by that, you were assuming steve meant karate. up on the screen was ralph macchio, side by side with mr miyagi in the second rendition of the karate kid. a small giggle rippled through your chest, eyes rolling playful as you turn a little to look at him. your faces were inches away, noses nearly brushing against each other. you could feel his warm breath against your skin. it smelt faintly of spearmint - he must’ve slipped himself a mint after dinner.

“you’re an idiot,” you teased, staring right into his eyes. “there’s no way in hell you could do that. you’re no macchio!”

“i am too! you haven’t seen my kickass fighting skills yet, you wouldn’t know,” steve exclaimed, still in a quiet tone. he’s speaking like he’s gotten into loads of fights before. “but i can promise you i could clear him, easy.”

steve was so certain in himself. you always knew him to be a little cocky, so this wasn’t much of a surprise to you. what was a surprise was how much you liked it. god were you screwed.

———

the drive back home was nice. you spoke to each other about how you enjoyed the movie, steve still convinced he could do karate. he even tried showing off, whacking his hand off the steering wheel like an idiot. that and the little wince he let out sent you into a fit of giggles you struggled to control. it wasn’t until the man shook his head, whispering a small ‘alright, alright’ that you managed to suppress them.

what really pushed you into silence was that same hand moving to rest against your thigh as steve drove. the sudden display of affection made you freeze. you weren’t repulsed or ungrateful for the sudden touch, only caught off guard. your teeth began to toy with your bottom lip in a weak attempt to contain yourself. you were so glad you were pulling into your driveway.

one of steve’s large hands pressed against the small of your back, gently guiding you to the front door of your house. he heard the way your breath caught in your throat and stayed there. the boy hadn’t even let go of you yet and you were already mourning the loss of his touch. in just a few minutes you knew he’d let go and be gone.

“i loved talking to you tonight,” steve spoke, his voice soft. he seemed fond, content.

“me too,” you told him, a small smile playing on your lips. it was almost shy. you watched as steves eyes flickered down to them, shiny with lipgloss you recently reapplied. the hand on your back moved to gently cup the side of your face. his thumb swiped slowly against your cheek, eyes gazing into yours.

“can i kiss you?” all you could do was nod. steve’s free hand found its way to your hip, gently pulling you towards him. his body slotted against yours perfectly, broad chest and strong arms practically enclosing you in. man did he smell good.

steve’s lips finally found his way towards yours, soft and inviting. they slotted between yours in a kiss that made your head swirl. if he didn’t have such a good grip on you you were sure you’d fall over from dizziness.

the kiss only lasted for a few too short seconds, your hands finding their way to his chest sometime during then. it took you a few moments to compose yourself enough to let your eyes flutter open. when you did, you caught glimpse of steve’s pretty eyes gazing at you, cheeks rosy pink and warm.

he let a soft sigh slip from his mouth. in a way, it felt painful for him to pull away from you. steve let his fingertips graze against your cheekbone, before dropping his hand to his side. the grip on your hip, however, stayed. his lips parted gently, mind swirling with thoughts he tried to get ahold of. he wanted to say something, but you really had a grip on his lungs. he wanted to stay, follow you to your bedroom. he wanted to feel your soft skin against his. he wanted to know what you tasted like. god, he had to stop. he didn’t want to mess things up by being to ahead of himself.

“would you wanna stay?” steve’s eyes went wide. everything from the tone of your voice to the way you stared up at him through your eyelashes screamed you wanted him too. needed him to. you about look as desperately as he felt. and, just like you before, all he could do was nod.

gripping the collar of his shirt, you gently pulled steve back down for another kiss. it was more heated this time, deep and needy, slow. a low hum reverberated in his chest, rattling against yours, eventually reaching your perfect lips. you blindly began to search behind you, a hand desperately trying to find the handle to your door.

steve helped, breaking the kiss for only a few moments, opening the door and pushing the two of you through it. the only thing he did was make sure it shut behind you two before his lips were back on yours, he let you slowly guide him in a stumble towards your room, arms holding each other steady as you make your way down the lengthy hallway.

on any other occasion, you’d be a little embarrassed by how cluttered your room was right now. your dirty laundry basket was overflowing, failed outfits from before the date in a small pile somewhere on the floor. the only thing you seemed to care about was getting steve out of these tight jeans of his.

once you secured your bedroom door shut, the man was careful with guiding you towards your slightly untidied bed. he let you lay down first, watching as you rest up on your elbows towards the top of your bed. steve was quick to climb up right after you, and even quicker with his hands, pawing at your waist as he leans down to connect your lips again.

a hand found its way to his hair, threading your fingers through it to tug his face closer to yours. it was a deep kiss, one that made you dizzy again. you were grateful for the soft landing behind your head in the case you do need to fall back.

steve’s lips parted after a while of your slow make out, tongue brushing against your lips in a plead. you let your lips part immediately, letting your tongue meet his, warm and desperate for more. finally, the man adjusted himself above you, gently moving to rest between your now parted thighs. when your lower halves connected you realized just how much trouble you’d be in.

his thick, heavy bulge pressed right against your covered heat when he settled in, letting his weight rest against you gently. even then, with the barriers between you two, you could tell steve was big. with the pressure still settled between your thighs, he adjusted himself slightly to rest against one of his forearms, pressing it right next to your side. his other hand started slowly exploring your body.

steve didn’t let his touch breach your clothes yet, despite the both of you desperately wanting him to. he was being respectfully, hand caressing up your waist, smoothing against your body until it settled beneath one of your tits, cupping slightly, yet not touching the supple skin. the boy could feel the way your bottom lip pouted out slightly into the kiss.

with that, steve pulled slowly away from the kiss, a small string of spit connected your lips briefly before it snaps. his eyes slowly opened, meeting yours in a droopy, heavy stare. somehow, he looked even more desperate than before. his hand drops down from its place beneath your chest, fingers beginning to toy with the hem of your shirt. he looked into your eyes in a desperate plead.

“can i?” steve whispered, not willing to move any further without your permission. you were quick to nod, almost too quick. if you weren’t so pent up you were sure you’d kick yourself for it.

you helped the man slide your shirt off your body, watching him discard of it on your floor amongst the other clothing of yours. steve still didnt seem to notice the mess, though, evidently preoccupied with something else. his eyes scanned your torso as respectfully as he could manage. he seemed to be memorizing your smooth skin - he admired the way your waist and hips curved (even through your shorts), the way your stomach pudges at, the way your tits sat perfectly inside of your bra.

that’s exactly where one of steves hands went next, behind your back to feel for the clasp of your bra. you gave him an encouraging nod, eyes trailing against his face, catching the freckles against his cheekbone. he was quick with pinching the clasp undone, something you were sure he’d practiced tons of times. while he was quick to unclasp your bra, he was slow to pull your straps down. steve let his fingers dance against the smooth skin of your arms, goosebumps waking at each dusted touch.

his eyes dropped down to your chest again the moment you bra was off. you saw the way his lips parted slightly, catching a glimpse of the way his adam’s apple bobbed as he lets in a quick, small breath. just before he could bring himself to start kissing on you, he felt your hand rest right against his chest again, gentle and needy. you gently tugged at the fabric of his tight shirt that was frankly hiding nothing, eyes pleading up at him for just a little look at him.

steve was quick to oblige, tugging off his shirt to expose his tanned upper body. dark, wiry hair spanned across his chest, eventually thinning down into a line that disappears into his too tight jeans. like a moth drawn to a light, your careful fingers found their way to his broad chest, nails scraping through the hair and against his skin delicately. you could feel the way steve’s stomach lurched and his abs tense slightly when your touch starts grazing down towards his stomach and happy trail. you were memorizing him the same way he was memorizing you, yet somehow, it felt different to him. the way you admired him with your gentle touch and your soft gaze tugged at his heart.

he was in desperate need of a distraction before he combusts. steve, as gentle as ever, slowly lowered himself against you again, large hands guiding you back down on the bed with him. unlike last time you leaned down, you let your back hit your soft mattress, head resting on one of your pillows with a pretty floral design on it. you let your hand rest on his lower tummy as steve’s face leans towards yours again, lips capturing yours in another breathtaking kiss.

you planted your other hand right on his shoulder, smoothing it against his skin in attempts to ground yourself in the moment, temporarily satiating your need for more. one of steve’s hands found its way to your waist, fingers tracing your skin, tickling you slightly. the other found its rightful place back beneath where your breast sits, cupping slightly. the smirk he gave into the kiss when he felt your breathing hitch against his thumb was diabolical.

steve broke the kiss just after that, lips trailing to your jawline in a slow, determined manner. he didn’t try and rush anything. he wanted to take his time with you, explore your body, truly feel you. steve let his lips kiss all the way to the pulse point on your neck before he truly latched his lips to you. you let your head rest back a little more, giving him all the room in the world to kiss where he pleases. it took you a second to realize his true intentions here, though the moment you felt his teeth begin to graze your skin, it clicked. you almost wished he would stop making you so dizzy.

once the man sucked a delicate, soon to be purple hickey to your neck, he let his lips trace your body even further down your neck. steve’s mouth trailed to the center of your chest before his head started to tilt up slightly to look at you, a quick check in to make sure you were still okay. he could feel how quick your heartbeat had picked up. the moment your eyes locked with his he knew to keep going. his slow kisses found their way to one of your breasts, the hand underneath reaching a little farther up to squeeze gently, lips grazing your soft, plush skin.

steve wrapped his lips wrap around your hardened nipple for only a few short moments, warm tongue grazing it, earning a pretty whine from your mouth. he received the same reaction when he gave your other breast the same attention.

the hands you had on steve’s body slipped away from him reluctantly as he travels down lower, intimate kisses pressed against your stomach and your sides. you weren’t quite sure where to put your hands yet, letting them hover above the two of you slightly until you were sure. just like your hands, steve eventually found his way to the hem of your jeans, his kisses pausing for a moment as he hovers over your clothed cunt. that’s when it hits you just how worked up he had you. all of those warm kiss and gentle touches have you aching for release, and more importantly, him.

steve’s pause had you worried, your eyebrow quirking up as you searched his face for some sort of hesitation or worry, any inkling of a ‘no, i don’t want to’. you saw none of the on his face.

“out of all the places you decided to stop,” you mumbled at breathlessly. “this is where you landed?”

steve let out one of his chuckles that make your tummy burn hotly, watching as he peaks up at you through his eyelashes. you began to lean up on your elbows again to get a better look at the boy. “just wanted to make sure you were okay, you idiot.”

you tried to contain your giggles, a few slipping out past your lips that were quirked up into a small smile. you gave him yet another nod, taking your lower lip between your teeth as you watched steve roll his eyes affectionately at you. his hands found their way to the buttons of your shorts, tugging your zipper down quickly afterwards. you lifted your hips up gently to help him shimmy them off of you, watching him tug them down and toss them with everything else of yours.

before you could let your hips settle back down, one of steve’s hands found its way to your lower back, holding you up for just a few short moments. he was quick to grab a pillow from beside your head, and even quicker to wedge it beneath your hips. you’re unbelievable was all you could think as you settled back down onto the bed.

heat spread up your neck and to your face the moment it hit you just how intimate he was being with you, broad shoulder placed between your spread thighs, face hovering over your lace panties. they were soaked through, you could feel it. even worse, you knew steve could see it, smell it even. and, as if steve could hear your thoughts, he brought a firm, soothing hand up to your hip. his thumb began to smooth against your bare skin, helping you settle down properly again.

every little touch he gave you was electric. a small zip flashed through the delicate skin of your thigh the moment steve’s other hand found its way there. though cold, though new, that touch soothed you too. he left small kisses on the skin of your stomach as he began to whisper to you.

“lay back, honey. let me take care of you.” fuck. you nodded to him in a haze, laying back into the bed comfortably. steve continued to leave small kisses against your exposed lower body, touch relaxing you even further into the bed until he finally made the move. his lips kissed right covered clit, making you jump ever so slightly. your slick made your panties transparent, leaving nothing to his imagination. soft kisses trailed down slow until his lips found your pulsing opening.

steve left a firm kiss right against it, letting it linger, before his tongue lolled out of his mouth. flat and eager, he let it slide from your leaking hole back onto your clit again, applying the tiniest bit of pressure against it before pulling away. an exasperated gasp left your mouth, a hand of yours moving to your forehead to rub slightly in irritation.

you always knew steve was a tease. he upheld that reputation a while with the ladies. you just didn’t think he was this much of a tease. he was working you up beyond belief. this was the complete opposite of how he’s been with you thus far - straightforward, easy going.

steve let his warm tongue connect with your clit once more, swirling around it slowly, before pulling away. this time, even with your desperate whine, he didn’t leave you hanging. his fingers hooked the sides of your panties, tugging at them enough to get your attention. you lifted your hips up long enough to let him tug them past your hips and down your thighs, before finally letting yourself rest down.

“so pretty honey,” steve whispered to you, hands finding their places back on your hip and thigh. you weren’t quite sure whether he was talking about you or your pussy - either way, it made your body heat up dramatically. without much of a thought, one of your hands found its way down to his, the one tracing your waist. he caught on to what you wanted quickly, grasping your hand in a gentle hold.

steve went through the same motions as before. after slowly spreading your folds apart with his unoccupied hand, his lips found your exposed clit in a warm kiss. he could feel the way it twitched against his flesh, and god did he love it. his lips trailed down to your opening again, watching as your arousal slowly drips out of you, leaking down to the puckered hole beneath it. a soft kiss placed against your opening was followed once again by his warm tongue, slowly sliding up through your folds again.

a breathy moan slipped out of both of your mouths at the feeling, only yours was followed by yet another as steve began to slowly lick at your clit. his tongue swirled and licked at the sensitive nerves with skill. you couldn’t help but bring your other hand down to his soft hair, threading through his locks gently to ground yourself, giving his hand a squeeze.

you could feel steve tense up, and you worried that maybe you’d done something you shouldn’t have. was he really that stuck up about his hair? you realized quickly how wrong you were when you saw the way his eyes fluttered shut for a few moments in pure bliss, lips wrapping right around your clit and sucking gently, almost as a thank you. you let out a choked moan the moment his lips latched and sucked, thighs tensing up slightly.

you were about to crumble hard, undoing all of the glorious work steve put in to work you up. he even doubled down, the hand not holding yours finding its way to your cunt, his middle finger collected up some of your arousal that was leaking from you. and, just as his tongue swirled around your clit once more, steve eased his thick finger inside of you slowly. a small gasp broke out from your mouth, feeling him pump his finger in and out of your tight hole. it wasn’t until several deep strokes that he pushed in a second finger, stretching you open, tugging a few desperate moans from your chest.

by accident, you’d tugged on the roots of steve’s hair. he didn’t seem to mind in the slightest, a guttural moan hitting against your clit, sending shockwaves up your body.

“i’m so glad i don’t have that stupid hat on anymore,” steve mumbled against you, lips a little too preoccupied with sucking deliciously on your clit.

“i kinda liked it,” you let out breathlessly, trying so hard not to fall apart too quickly. instead of verbally responding, steve simply curled his fingertips into a spongy spot in your body you didn’t even know someone could reach. your eyes rolled back into your head at the feeling, letting out a broken moan. it was all so much - you could feel the pressure building up in your stomach, and quickly.

steve’s fingers kept brushing against the perfect spot, his lips and his tongue somehow knowing exactly what you needed from him. your chest started to heave slightly as you rapidly approached your orgasm, grip on his hair tightening slightly, urging him to keep going. your moans sung out for him to hear, uncontrollable and needy. you tried to warn the boy, though your words came out in a slight mess right as everything hit you.

pleasure filled every inch of you as steve works you through your high. the wet squelching coming from your sopping cunt only encouraged him more. your whole body tensed up for what felt like forever, hand gripping his as you grind slightly onto him, desperate for the last bit of friction before he pulls away, whispering thank you’s to him. he gave your clit a final farewell - a soft kiss - as he slowly sliding his fingers from your cunt. you looked down in bliss just in time to see steve, king steve, wrap his pink lips around his fingers and moan at the taste of you.

hesitantly, you let go of his hand, gripping ahold of his shoulder instead as you gently tugged the man up the bed towards you. the poor guy was still stuck inside his jeans. somehow, he hadn’t torn the threads in the front, his hard, thick cock pressing against the coarse fabric in an attempts to release itself. once steve was properly hovered over you again, your hands went straight to his belt buckle, only you right before undoing it, looking right up at his dark, lust filled eyes. his eyes darted across your face worriedly, before letting it drop, shaking his in disbelief.

“funny,” he whispered, gently pressing himself against your hands further. you gave him a teasing smile right as you began fumbling with his belt. you wish you had the patience to admire just how nice the leather on it was.

steve let you fumble around with his zipper, only assisting you in kicking off his jeans, keeping it far away from the two of you. he was still situated between your thighs, this time his hips slotted perfectly between them, knocking them wide open. your hands found their way back to his soft tummy as he leans in closer, face inches away from yours, noses knocking against each others. your eyes were still focused downwards, though, letting your hands drift towards his steadily leaking tip. you traced it oh so gently through the fabric of his boxers, close enough to his face to hear him inhale sharply.

your fingers began to trace the length of his cock, feeling the curve he has to him. the loss of his fingers inside of you made you feel empty, and all you could think about was how perfect he’d feel inside of you. your hand gripped his length through the fabric and squeezed gently, watching as another splotch of pre cum appears in its wake. you were much less of a tease than steve, you realized, giving into him quickly as you slowly tug off his boxers, helping him discard them.

finally, you got a full, unfiltered and unblocked view of steve’s cock. truthfully, you’d never seen one quite as nice to look at. his tip was a bright red, still leaking pre cum, veins lining his length perfectly. he was heavy in your hands when you grasped him again, lips lifting into a pleased smile at the sound of his soft gasp. you gave him another gently squeeze, slowly twisting your hand up his length, and down just as slow, smearing what you’d collected at his tip down with it. your hand somehow seemed so small compared to his cock, and you loved it.

“need you inside of me, stevie,” you choked out, finally peeling your eyes away from his dick, looking straight into his eyes when he looked right back up at you. you batted your eyelashes at him, eyes begging for him as you continue to slowly stroke him. steve stares at you with an almost blank expression, almost like he wasn’t quite listening, little whines rippling through his throat as his eyebrows knit together.

you stop stroking him at his base, squeezing his thickness once again, touch not leaving him. “said i need you inside f’me, stevie, please?”

you watched as he finally processed what you said, eyes going wide, head nodding rapidly as he scrambles back to his jeans to fish out his wallet, tugging out a condom he so conveniently had stashed away in there. this is the first time tonight you’d seen steve so at loss for words, and you weren’t sure why.

he did, though. this was the first time since he’s been in the dating pool that he’s felt a real, honest connection with someone. sure, you guys had only been on this one date. he knew that. there was just something about you and you’re kindness, your humor, your passion for everything that had him swooning. intimacy was a lot different when you were with someone you could admire like that. not to mention how hot you are.

steve fumbled through slipping the condom on properly, and it didn’t help you were beneath him smiling patiently up at him like you were. the moment he successfully managed it on, he found his way back down to your level, faces finally close again. steve has an arm rested right beside your head, his hand gently brushing all your hair away from your face. he wanted to see you properly, look you in your eyes.

you gave him a reassuring nod, telling him that yes, you were ready - that you wanted him. with a hand cradling the top of your head and the other gripping the base of his throbbing cock, steve lined himself up with your entrance. he was gentle with the way he pressed himself into you, your arousal still plentiful, helping him ease his way inside of you better.

“fuck,” you let out, eyebrows and nose scrunched up at the way steve was stretching you out. he let you adjust to him inch by inch, knowing how difficult it is to fit him at first. you brought a hand up to his face, cupping his jaw to get him to look at you as he slid in the rest of the way, bottoming you out, eyes locking at the perfect time.

“there ya go honey,” steve whispered, lips pressing against your forehead as he encouraged you, his cockiness finally slipping through again. “i know, tight fit.”

you could tell why he put so much effort into working you up the way he did - getting you in the mood, kissing you all over, filling you up with his fingers. it made this ten times easier on the both of you. he liked doing all of it regardless, making you feel good that is. he liked being of service.

when steve pulled his lips away from your forehead, you were quick to bring his attention to your own lips, pulling the man down gently to connect them with yours. it was a deep, desperate, wet kiss, something you craved so badly right now. that’s when he started to rock his hips into yours, slowly rolling himself down against you. he let himself test the waters, see how easy it would be for you to adjust fully.

luckily for the both of you, after a few slow, deep strokes, you adjusted just fine. the arm not rested by your head found its way to your waist, fingers trailing your soft skin as he begins to find a rhythm to fall into. he picked up the pace a little, hips moving just a bit faster as you make out. you let your hand move to the back of steve’s head, fingers threading once again in his beautiful hair. it wasn’t until you rested your other hand against his chest, smoothing against it that you found out what really gets to him.

the feeling of your nails scrapping against his scalp, your hand firm against his chest, and your dripping cunt squeezing around him was fatal. his hips stutter and snap harder than he intended, a desperate moan falling from his lips and directly into yours. your body jolted slightly at the snap of his hips, a moan falling out of your mouth along with his.

“sorry, sorry you just- fuck you can’t just do that,” steve rambled out, breaking the kiss and slowing down his thrusts. you gave him the cheekiest smile, raising your eyebrows at him.

“why not, handsome?” you questioned, circling your hips at the perfect angle, his tip snagging at just the right spot inside of you, whimpering beneath him. “s-seems like you liked it.”

steve adjusted himself at the sounds of your whimpers, nudging himself around until he finds that spot again, slowly thrusting himself into you. your grip on his hair tightened again, bottom lip quivering slightly as you take in the pleasure.

“i do, i do,” he reassured, finally finding his rhythm again, moans slipping from your lips. “just not when i’m t-trying not to go too fast, or f-finish too fast- fuck, honey, feel so good f’me.”

your back arched just a little at the sound of him praising you, clenching down around him again, just like you did before that caused the praise he gave. steve’s eyes lit up at the realization. he had some dirt on you now, too, and man did it feel good to be even.

“wouldn’t m-mind if you went faster,” you spoke, eyes begging up at him, legs spreading wider. you were already sensitive from your last orgasm, but now that he knows you like being praised? and he’s looking at you like that? you were struggling to contain yourself. “wouldn’t mind if you went h-harder either.”

“yeah?” he questioned.

“yeah.”

steve gave you a long, gentle kiss on the lips, petting your hair down affectionately, before he sat up a little in his place. he uses his large hands to readjust your legs, helping you wrap them firmly around his waist, giving him more leverage to fuck into you properly.

with every thrust from then on, steve fucks you just a little faster, just a little harder, until he finds that sweet spot that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. you reach a hand out to desperately claw at him, finally find one of his hands to grab onto, holding hands with him just like before. this time, however, you tangled your fingers with his holding onto him tight. he’s gentle when he pins your hand down against the mattress, the complete opposite of how he was fucking into you right now.

you started to writhe underneath him, moans becoming more frequent, eye contact becoming harder to keep. you were close.

“look at me,” steve spoke out, chest heaving a little from exertion, choked noises of pleasure bleeding through. “honey, look at me. wanna see those pretty eyes when we cum.”

you let your eyes flutter open, forcing eye contact with him as you rapidly approach your orgasm, his praise feeding into your pleasure. he gives your hand a squeeze, a squeeze you’re quick to reciprocate. he looks just as close as you are - fucked out and needy. you kept your other hand planted in his hair, anchoring yourself down, keeping him close.

“gonna cum, stevie, gonna- ohgod,” you could barely get your words out by the time your second orgasm washes over you. your cunt convulses around steve’s large cock uncontrollably, gushing around him. you fought tooth and nail to not let your eyes close, and you were so glad that you didn’t. steve was quick to cum right after you, face scrunched up all cute, moans and whines almost on par with yours, white ropes of warm cum filling the condom. he had a hold on your hips and waist that would leave bruises as he took you two through your orgasm.

you two stayed there for a few minutes. no thrusts, no tiny hip movements, just taking in the feeling of your orgasms, heavy breathing filling the room. you two still maintained eye contact, even after it was all done. you were the first to break the silence.

“can you wear your scoops uniform next time?”

“oh shut up.”

the both of you burst into a fit of laughs, steve finally, slowly pulling out of your wrecked cunt. you were glad you had a trash can in the corner of your room - the only thing steve had to do was stumble over and discard his condom, grabbing ahold of his boxers and his shirt, offering up the shirt for you to wear. you happily obliged, tugging it on, before motioning to your panties after he slipped into his boxers. steve wanted to make a comment about how you ruined the pair, but spared you just tonight.

he was hoping there would be many other nights where he’d be granted to opportunity to do that.

[ryuzakemo128]

Demons in my head, Angels in my eyes

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Cello Player/ Visual Artist! You, Female Reader x Chrissy Cunningham

Content Warning: Mental Illness mentioned and embedded into it. Like Depression, Synaesthesia, and PTSD. Suicide Ideation also heavily referenced.

Words: 2525

Note: This is going to be pretty depressing. I even cried a few times in writing this. So be careful when you read it. You might need a box of tissues with you. Part 2 Coming soon.

Masterlist

Credit for Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

You were more likely to die young according to Chrissy and Eddie through a conversation you accidentally overheard once. It felt like they wanted you to die before you reached the age of twenty-one. You wore a crimson red turtleneck with a cardigan draped over your shoulders. The one which you bought from a thrift store last weekend.

The scarf you put on matched your cardigan, both in colour and in style. You embroidered ‘Life’s a bitch, and then you die.’  Into the back of your cardigan in cursive. You bought it with the intent on adding small embellishments to it. You added three things to it, you haven’t found any buttons you liked to replace the old ones. Which you’re still mentally kicking yourself over.

You walked to your recital, which would happen during the lunch break. You were not looking forward to it either. The quicker this was done, the sooner you wanted to go home early for the day. Eddie and Chrissy spotted you getting ready for it, the bandages on your arms indicating a path of self-destructive tendencies.

Chrissy leaned in closer to Eddie, whispering something into his ear that made him chuckle darkly. You felt your heart sink, knowing that your secret was out. They had seen your battle with mental illness, a silent war you had been fighting since you were six. The whispers grew louder as you took the stage, the cello between your legs.

Your knees trembled as you placed the bow to the strings, the whispers transforming into a cacophony of doubt in your mind. You closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and let the music take over. The cello sang out a melody that spoke of your soul's deepest turmoil, the notes resonating with the pain you held inside.

The song piece you decided to play was called 'Melancholy Nocturne'. It was one of your favourite pieces. You closed your eyes while you played it, hoping to block them out from your sight and your mind's eye. The music was your only solace, when you were finished, you felt drained but oddly at peace. The sound of applause washed over you, bringing you back to reality. You walked backstage to pack and leave when someone stopped you.

It was Eddie. His face was a mix of concern and curiosity. He looked at your arms, the bandages peeking out from under your sleeves. "Hey, are you okay?" His voice was softer than you had ever heard it. It almost made you believe he genuinely cared. You shrugged it off, "Just a little accident."

He didn't press further, which was surprising. Instead, he leaned against the wall, watching you pack up your cello. "That was intense," he said, referring to your performance. "Where does that come from?" You looked up at him, unsure of how to answer. The music was your escape, a place where your thoughts and feelings could run free without judgement.

"My parents forced me to learn it. I just refuse to unlearn it." You state simply picking up your cello case to leave.

Eddie nods slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. "Look, I know we haven't exactly been... friendly. But I've noticed you've been pretty down lately. More than usual." His voice is gentle, a stark contrast to the sarcastic tone he usually has.

"I'm depressed. I will never be happy." You bluntly stated. "I have experienced brief moments of bliss and nothing else."

Eddie's expression grew more serious. "You know, talking about it can help. I've seen it with my uncle."

"Munson, your uncle helps because he gives a shit about you. He cares about you, he wants you to do better, that is what he should be doing, family they are supposed to care about you." You corrected him. "My family has a long tract record of addiction, suicide and cancer. My family sucks. My family are all over the place because they're as selfish as they come."

Eddie nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of your words. "But that doesn't mean you can't find happiness elsewhere. Or that you shouldn't try to get better." He offered a small smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I know it's tough, but sometimes you gotta fight through the bad stuff to get to the good."

"I'm broke, my truck is about to die, and I have a shit job I do on the weekend." You countered. "Classmates aren't friends, they're just people you have the same class with. I'm just here because I'm too much of a coward to kill myself." You walked to your truck to put your things into it. You tried starting your truck, which failed three times before it finally roared to life. Your parents left you home alone for the rest of the week. As your father took your mother on 'business trip' or something.

Eddie found out you were alone for the rest of the week by overhearing a conversation between teachers. He heard, "Her parents left for the week, she's all by herself again. Poor girl."

Eddie saw you push your truck to the mechanic to sell it for scap if they said it wasn't worth fixing. Eddie overheard the mechanics tell you that it would cost more than the car was worth to fix. He felt bad for you, so he offered to give you a ride home. You declined. Saying you weren't worth the effort.

The walk home was long and lonely. The grey clouds above mirrored your mood. You felt like a burden to everyone around you, a black hole that sucked the happiness out of any room you entered. You trudged along the sidewalk, your mind racing with dark thoughts.

As you approached your house, you saw Eddie's car parked outside. Your heart sank. He had insisted on giving you a ride, and you had foolishly hoped he'd forgotten about it. You quickened your pace, trying to slip inside before he noticed you. But as you reached the door, he stepped out of the car, blocking your path.

You attempted to go inside your house through the basement which is your bedroom and main living space. It was cluttered with art supplies and band posters. You had painted the walls a deep shade of purple to match the mood of your music. The only source of light was a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, casting a dim glow over everything.

You walked to your fridge to have your pot brownie and have a nap afterwards. You didn't expect Eddie to follow you inside. You turned around to face him, a mix of annoyance and confusion in your eyes. "What do you want?" You snapped.

Eddie took a step back, holding his hands up in a non-threatening gesture. "I just wanted to make sure you got home okay." His eyes swept over the cluttered room, taking in the sight of your personal sanctuary. "This is… intense."

"Just like my internal need to off myself." you muttered mostly to yourself than him as you ate your pot brownie.

Eddie noticed the pot brownie that was almost gone. He frowned, his concern growing. "You know, that's not a healthy way to cope," he said, his voice gentle.

"Who say I was coping?" You snorted as you stored the rest in your fridge and went to brush your teeth before a nap.

Eddie followed you into the bathroom, his eyes widening at the sight of your arms. The bandages were off, revealing a tapestry of scars, some fresh and others faded with time. "You need help," he said firmly. "This isn't just sadness. This is a cry for help."

"This is me coping." You corrected.

Eddie looked at you with a mix of sadness and anger. "No, this is you punishing yourself." He reached out to grab your arm gently, turning it so he could see the full extent of the damage. Which was far more than he assumed. Your wrists sliced up to hell and back, they looked raw and painful. "This isn't living." Some of the more fresher ones were still red and swollen, it looked like you had done it the night before.

You cleaned your arms, when you attempted to bandage them yourself when Eddie decided to take over. He was surprisingly gentle. "You can't keep doing this to yourself." He murmured, his eyes focused on his task. "You're worth so much more than what you give yourself credit for."

You didn't answer, you didn't say anything in response to it, you were tired of hearing it over and over again. You felt like screaming, but you knew it was futile. You knew that Eddie meant well, but his words felt hollow. They always did. You sat down on your bed, the springs creaking under your weight. The mattress had seen better days, much like everything else in the house.

After he was done, you attempted to nap, thought Eddie had other plans. He didn't let you nap. He sat on the edge of your bed, his eyes never leaving your face. "Why don't you come to the party tonight?" He asked, his voice hopeful. "It'll be a good distraction."

"I don't go to parties. I suck the fun out of everything." you told him.

"Well, maybe it's time to change that," Eddie said, his voice firm but not unkind. "You can't just sit here and wallow in your own misery forever."

"I've been getting paid well for it so far." You pointed out that your father gives you an allowance of a hundred dollars every week in addition to your job's wage. You attempted to get ready to eat at the diner for dinner alone as 'treat' for yourself. You got changed into a long sleeved dress to go eat at the diner. She thought it would have looked weird enough for him to leave without her.

You walked out of the bathroom, your arms now bandaged again. Eddie's eyes searched yours for any sign of hope or agreement, but all he found was a deep sadness. You shrugged, "I don't know how to do anything else."

He stood up, his hands resting on his hips. "Look, I'm not saying it's going to be easy, but you've gotta try. For yourself." He paused, then added, "And maybe for the people who care about you."

"The zero out of zero people." You got your wallet to walk to the diner alone.

Eddie sighed, understanding the weight of your words. "Okay, dinner at the diner it is." He followed you out of the house, his boots echoing on the pavement as you walked side by side. The air was cool, a hint of rain in the air. The diner's neon sign flickered in the growing twilight, casting an eerie glow on the empty street.

You paid for his food as well. You didn't take no for an answer. But to Eddie it was more than just food. It was a silent cry for help, a gesture of friendship in a sea of apathy. You sat across from each other in a booth, the smell of greasy food and burnt coffee filling the air. The jukebox played a sad tune that seemed to resonate with the mood.

"Why do you care?" You finally asked, breaking the silence. "You've never talked to me before, except for that one time when you guys talked about how likely it was for me to die young."

Eddie looked down at his plate, pushing his fries around with his fork. "I don't know. Maybe I saw a bit of myself in you." He admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've had my own battles, you know."

"Take your girlfriend Chrissy to that party. I'll walk home." You quickly finished your food to go home.

Eddie reached out and placed his hand over yours, stopping you from moving. "Hey, don't rush off. I'm not taking you home just yet." His grip was firm but not overpowering.

"I'm certain you don't have to 'take me' anywhere." You replied.

Eddie looked up, his eyes meeting yours with a surprising intensity. "I know it's not my place, but I do care. And I want to help. Maybe the party isn't your scene, but just give it a shot. What do you have to lose?"

"Dignity, sense of self and the fact that people might stab me." You were blunt. "The stabbing part has happened before though."

Eddie looked surprised, "What do you mean?"

"Yeah. I got embarressed at an attempt to go to a party. A chick got upset and stabbed me with a butterknife." you explained.

Eddie's eyes widened in shock. "Jesus, that's messed up."

"It was then. Not so much now. I can safely say that I got stabbed by a butterknife." you snorted eating your pumpkin pie.

You attempted to shoo him off to go with Chrissy to the party while you went to practice your cello.

Eddie nodded thoughtfully. "Okay, no party. But promise me you won't be alone all night. If you need anything, I'll be there." He slid a piece of paper with his number across the table. "Call me, no matter what." Eddie then remembered she would be alone in the house.

You took the paper without looking at it, stuffing it into your pocket. "Fine." You stood up, ready to leave. Heading home alone to an empty house on the hill.

Eddie watched you go, a look of concern etched on his face. He knew you weren't okay, but he also knew pushing too hard wouldn't help. He followed you from a distance, making sure you got home safe. Once he saw you go inside, he drove away, feeling a little helpless.

The house was eerily quiet when you entered. You felt the weight of the silence pressing down on you as you made your way to the basement. You pulled out your cello and began to play, letting the music fill the empty space. As the notes danced in the air, you couldn't help but feel a little less alone.

You were woken up at 4am by your door being thrown open. Your father stumbling into your room with your mother in tow. "Get dressed, we're leaving." He slurred. You looked at the clock, it was 4 AM, you had work at 6 AM. "Where are we going?"

"Back to your mother's hometown. We need to sort some shit out with her inheritance. It's going to be a week or two. Make sure to tell your boss."

"I got things to do here still. Like school." You reminded him.

"You can miss a week of school. You're already a failure anyway." Your mother spat, her voice slurred from too much alcohol.

"Then you can do it yourself. I'll stay here and take care of the house." you stated.

Your father's eyes narrowed. "You can't stay here alone. What if something happens?"

"I've been home alone before." You reminded him.

He sighed heavily, the smell of alcohol filling the room. "Fine. But don't you dare do anything stupid while we're gone."

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

This piece contains 18+ content

pairing Eddie Munson x Female Reader

summary After stumbling across Eddie’s intimate drawings of you, you’re left reeling, but what unfolds that night is less about the pictures and more about the trust and closeness they force to the surface. [contains fluff, artsy eddie who's a little rough around the edges, nude drawings, smut | wc 5.8k]

a/n based on this request by the lovely @valinherfantasyworld

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

Under the hum of fluorescent lights, you stand waiting as a small fan rotates to blow air your way. The gas pumps outside had been empty, but the open sign held enough promise for you to mosey on in. With a sigh, you reach out to hit the top of the dainty silver call bell for the second time. The checkout counter is dotted with planetary and extra-terrestrial figurines. Old, peeling stickers are stuck to the wood as well. 

It isn’t lost on you that you could bypass paying for the trail mix and jerky and walk out the door. The intrusive thought comes just as Nelson bursts from the break room with his famously grizzled beard. His shoes squeak against the sticky floor as he hobbles to his place behind the counter with considerable reliance on his scuffed, wooden cane. When he sits on the stool, air expels from the cushion in a low, high-pitched whine. 

“My apologies,” he tilts his head to look at you from over the top of his chunky glasses. The prescription is so high that it makes his hazel eyes look larger than they are. 

You shake your head in dismissal as you push Wayne’s snacks towards him with a polite smile. He punches the prices into the cash register with practiced ease. His fingers move quickly and precisely like a starved bird pecking the ground for food.  

“No help today?” you ask. 

Nelson puffs an exasperated breath. “That Henderson kid’s supposed to be here,” he says. “Runnin’ late ‘cause of math club.” 

You hum, trying not to smile when he mutters something about priorities and the youth these days. 

“Need a bag?” He puts the snacks in one before you can answer. “Say, aren’t you dating the Munson boy?” 

“Only for the past six months,” you lightheartedly quip. 

Nelson seldom asked a question he didn’t know the answer to. Everybody in Hawkins shopped at Boone’s Quick Mart, whether they wanted to or not. Convenience trumps luxury any day, and there’s nothing quite like Southern hospitality wrapped in a Midwestern package.

As a pillar in the community for the past thirty years, Nelson Boone knows who’s who and what’s what—Tina Johnson’s divorce from her wandering-eyed husband, Jaden Rockwell’s C+ on his report card, the McNulty family’s move to Boise. This is a man who sees and hears all. 

He meets your gaze with his googly eyes. “So you heard about what happened to him last night?” 

A small stone of worry drops into your gut. “Something happened?” 

Nelson looks at you from over his glasses again, a thrilled smirk playing on his lips. “Something? Hell, I reckon he saved my ass from getting killed.” 

The spark of excitement that curls in his tone reminds you of his tendency to stretch the truth just enough to make eyes widen and jaws drop a little faster. You bar yourself against the bait in hopes he’ll be more stripped and forthcoming. It works, if the way his shoulders relax is any clue. 

“Guy from outta town comes in all big and bad, demanding I empty the register,” he starts. “Meanwhile, Munson’s in the back near the pop. All I’m thinking at this point is, I should’ve gone ahead and made those revisions to my will like I was planning to—” 

“What did Eddie do?” you cut in. 

Nelson clears his throat. “Long story short, the guy whips out some kind of folding knife, they scuffle for a bit, then Munson knocks the rest of buddy’s screws loose.” 

“What?” Your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. 

“Scout’s honor,” Nelson says, holding up three fingers. “He didn’t mention it?” 

You blink a few quick times as worry swirls within you. “Haven’t seen him in a few days.” 

Nelson shifts on the stool and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a meaty finger. “Well, that kid’s got the biggest pair in all of Hawkins, I tell you what.” He laughs a quick bark of a sound that sends him into a brief coughing fit. “Imagine that, though. Me dying in ‘88, the year of our Lord.” 

“Imagine that,” you murmur. 

You place the money on the counter with buzzing fingers and blood rushing in your ears. 

•••

Wayne’s truck is the only vehicle parked out front when you arrive at the trailer. The grass is greener, and the small flower bed Eddie helped you plant is vibrant and thriving. Before Spring settled, you’d told both Munsons that nurturing their slice of Hawkins could give them something to feel proud of. They’d taken it to heart. 

Though neither would ever admit it to your face, you’d come into their life and transformed it from grayscale to technicolor. 

As a breeze rustles through the surrounding trees, the early evening sun ventures closer towards the horizon. 

When the front door pushes open with a dull creak, Wayne looks up from where he’s wiping crumbs off the small kitchen table nestled beside the window. He’s in jeans and an old tee that’s loose around the collar. A smile pulls at his lips as you pad inside. 

“Thought that was you,” he says. “What’s this?” Wayne peeks into the bag as you set it on the table. 

“Special delivery.” 

“Told ya you ain’t gotta go outta your way for me like this.” He shakes his head with a sigh, but you know he’s grateful. 

“Saves you an extra stop before work, right?” You gently nudge his shoulder. 

“Thanks, darlin.’” After walking the towel back over to the sink, he catches the hint of concern in your eyes as you linger near the table. 

“Everything alright?” 

You open your mouth a couple of times. “Is Eddie okay?” 

Wayne’s gray eyebrows furrow. “Yeah. I mean, he’s Eddie.” He chuckles. “You just missed him. Called about five minutes ago and said something about getting off a little later than usual.” 

You frown. “So that’s why he hasn’t made it in.” 

Wayne hums a sound of confirmation. “Said he could meet you at Benny’s at six, though,” he says. “Also mentioned something about the lake. Asked you to bring his camera.” 

At the very least, the man’s words assure you that the events of last night hadn’t been as bad as you made them out to be in your mind. 

•••

The next hour passes with a slow, Hawkins kind of ease. When you push into Eddie’s bedroom in search of his camera, the air smells like him: pinewood with a faint, smokey undertone. All things considered, the space is tidier than it’s been over the past couple of weeks. 

The open surfaces are no longer strewn with random receipts and wrappers. All his fantasy figurines are organized with a greater sense of intentionality. Even the Iron Maiden poster, whose corner once slouched off the wall, has now been readhered. 

Leave it up to Eddie to make order out of chaos again and again.  

You locate the Nikon on his dresser in seconds. The frame counter rests a few notches before 1, and after a brief pause of debate, you pop the film door open to see if there’s any film inside. Relief washes over you when you realize the chamber is empty, and you haven’t just exposed a brand-new roll to the light. In search of a fresh canister, you squat at his nightstand and pull open the top drawer. Nothing. Mainly guitar accessories: picks, sheets of music, old bridge pins—along with a couple of stray condoms. 

You move to the drawer beneath it, where journals, sketchbooks, and art supply pouches. However, a small cylindrical container tucked in the back corner catches your attention. The top of your hand pinches against the drawer when you attempt to reach the new roll of film without disturbing the other contents. That’s when you make the executive decision to pull out the first couple of sketchbooks. 

In doing so, three pictures slip out: you on a park bench smiling, you sitting on his bed attempting to play his guitar, you taking too big of a bite off an ice cream cone. 

A smile buds on your face as you flip the sketchbook open to tuck the photos back inside. Time stops. On the page is a beautiful portrait of you. It's not a mere sketch; this is much too involved. You were under the impression that he only ever drew the characters for his campaigns this intricately—dragons, celestials, faye. 

As far as you knew, your likeness was only ever confined to his quicker sketches because you were always around. It was easy to capture you in the moment with no pressure. Can’t replicate perfection, sweetheart. 

It isn’t until you’ve turned a few pages ahead that a different type of surprise prickles through you. Blooming and warm like the beginning of spring, but with a more rogue intensity. One that feels borderline forbidden because this next drawing itself ought to have remained tucked away in a secret place. 

Your lips aren’t wrapped around ice cream but Eddie’s index and middle fingers. A line of saliva runs down your chin as your eyes sparkle. 

You flip to the next drawing. In this one, you’re topless and kneeling, legs spread in an unabashed V. One of your hands plays between your thighs as you look up through your lashes. It’s drawn from memory, no doubt. Eddie had yet to capture you on film in such a vulnerable light. 

Another page. Eddie’s hand is wrapped around your neck. You recognize the skeleton tattoo that constitutes the back of his right hand to give the illusion that his bones are bared. 

Another. Your backside is drawn from the perspective of whoever stands behind you. There’s an abstractness to it, in a way. The shading suggests slight irritation or bruising from impact against your delicate skin. 

The last drawing you gleam features you lying face down with your bottom up, wrists tied with rope. Indents on your skin suggest that you’ve tried to pull free—

Something flips low in your gut. White noise fills your ears as you snap the sketchbook closed and put it back where it belongs. You move on autopilot as you toss Eddie’s camera and film into your tote bag and scramble out of his room. 

•••

The water is calm as it laps at the bank of the lake. Gnats flutter around while tree leaves rustle. On a summer evening such as this, Lover’s Lake is a wonder. Above, the sky stretches like the handiwork of a master artist. Blue fades to burnt orange to rustic lavender in a seamless ombre. Your eyes remain on the water below as you kick your feet off the edge of the dock. 

Eddie nudges your knee with his after a while. The upper portion of his coveralls is tied around his waist, exposing his white T-shirt and lean tattooed arms. The sleeve on his right arm is fuller and extends all the way to his hand. 

Despite the intricate designs inked across his skin, you can make out the thin, red scratches on his forearms and the few cuts that pepper his knuckles. None of them override the dark ink of his tattoos, but you can see them since you’re sitting so close. The ones on his neck are visible all the more because they have little to camouflage with. Some are old, but most of them are undeniably fresher. You’ve been cataloguing them all evening. 

You peer over at him with a pensive smile. His camera rests on the opposite side of him. He’d captured a few shots of you and the scenery when there was a little more light. 

“You’re quiet,” he says.

“Just enjoying the view.” 

Eddie briefly wrinkles his nose and looks out at the lake. Touché. 

The silence returns, but Eddie can’t settle into it for the life of him. He shifts, one knee propping up. “You gotta give me something to work with here.” He tries to meet your adverted gaze. “Did I say something to piss you off?” 

All you can do is manage a swallow. There were enough distractions to carry you through dinner at Benny’s, but the world seems much smaller and stripped out here. No music, chatter, or waitress checking in to refill your drinks. It’s just you, Eddie, and the unmatched stillness of nature. All of which are fertile ground for your thoughts to wander and unavoidably return to the fact he hadn’t said a word about what happened at Boone’s—or the contents of his sketchbook. Especially now that he won’t look away from you. 

Worry intensifies Eddie’s gaze. The same gaze that you now know has studied and considered you more intimately than you ever imagined. You can’t help but feel bare and exposed now. It was yet another brick to lay on top of the fact that he’d refrained from telling you about the events at Quick Mart. 

You finally look over at him.  

“Please talk to me,” he says. 

You take his larger hand in yours. He remains quiet, hopeful. You study his palm, then turn it over to assess the back of his hand, the cuts just barely visible over the skeleton tattoo covering it. You wish he could be a fraction as open and forthcoming as the illusion his tattoo presents.

“Did something happen last night?” you ask. 

A defensive edge slips into his voice. “What do you mean?” 

“At Quick Mart,” you say. 

In the time that Eddie combs through his mind in search of the right approach, you say it yourself, “You were in a fight.” It’s not fair to state it so clinically, but you do it anyway. 

Eddie looks more betrayed than surprised. “No, I wasn’t,” he says. “Not like that.” 

You feel a pang of guilt over the earnest way he expresses it, like a kid trying to prove their innocence. 

Over the years, he’d gotten better about his temper. About how quick he was to handle certain situations with the scrappier instincts of his youth. He knew now, more than ever, that words alone could get him much further than his fists. Throughout the latter half of his overstayed run in the public school system, he’d been forced to prove himself physically time after time, so he had no choice but to get good at it. Sometimes, he jumped the gun, but that wasn’t him. Not anymore.  

“It wasn’t over nothing,” he explains. “Asshole was trying to—” 

“I know, Teddy,” you’re quick to assure, voice soft. “Wasn’t pointing fingers. I’m just glad everybody’s okay.” You squeeze his hand. 

His gaze flickers down. “Sorry,” he murmurs, exhaling. He speaks up after a while. “Was it Nelson who told you?” 

The thought of Nelson—endearing, googly-eyed Nelson—makes your lips twitch upwards. Eddie almost doesn’t believe it, but he’s grateful. A fraction of the tension melts from his shoulders as levity creeps in. He presses closer to feel the shake of your shoulders as you chuckle despite yourself. If you don’t laugh, you’ll mess around and find a reason to cry. 

Your amusement eventually subsides into something stiller. “Wish it’d been you, though.” 

Eddie takes the blow. “Swear I was gonna tell you.” He dips his head to kiss the bulb of your shoulder. “Just wanted to give everything some breathing room. Didn’t want you to get all worked up and worried. Hate making you worry.” 

“Forget worry,” you say lightly. “If something involves you, I’ll always wanna know. I care about you.” Those words stir a gratefulness in his chest.  “I want you to tell me things even when they’re scary or hard.” 

Eddie sees the sincerity in your gaze. A hint of confliction seems to reside there as well.  

“No more secrets,” he promises. 

He holds out his pinkie, and just when he thinks you’re going to ignore it, you hook yours around his. It’s no surprise that he squeezes. As playful as he is, you should’ve seen it coming. You yelp and attempt to pull your hand away, but he leans in to steal a kiss that you allow him to take. A satisfied smile lingers on his face afterward. 

With a proud sigh, he lays back on the wooden planks of the dock, hair splaying like mane. With your eyes you map the faint freckles on his face when he closes his eyes, then trace his eyebrows, the slope of his nose, the relaxed pout of his lips. 

Eddie’s eyes soon flutter open to meet yours.

He offers a smile. “Hmm?”

You shrug, chuckling in a mix of nerves and relief. “Just thinking of something Nelson said about you,” you say. “‘That kid’s got the biggest pair in all of Hawkins.’” 

A surprised laugh bubbles out of him that makes his eyes crinkle and his chest shake. You join in. When the moment settles into something tamer but still a bit charged, Eddie holds your gaze as he reaches down between his legs to rest a hand over his crotch. 

“You’ve seen ‘em first hand,” he drawls, palming himself through the fabric of his coveralls. “Whaddya think?” 

Heat floods your cheeks, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of leaving you speechless. “Jury’s still out.” 

Another laugh rumbles through him and ends with a snort. His eyes shimmer when he calms down. You’re there to twirl your finger around one of his curls and give it an affectionate tug. 

A gentle breeze rolls through and makes a part of you wish it could carry the memory of his drawings away with it. At least so you could settle into the serenity of the moment in an unadulterated way. Those thoughts don’t leave you, however. His face alone is a reminder of his secret envisionings of you. 

•••

Later that night, in the dim lamplight of Eddie’s room, you lie face up on his bed, eyes glued to the ceiling. It’s as if the act will still your nerves, but it doesn’t. 

Eddie emerges from the bathroom whistling, a gray towel wrapped around his slender waist. You loll your head to look at him just long enough to catalogue his damp curls, his myriad of tattoos, the light dusting of hair between his pecs, and the even darker trail that descends from his belly button. His back turns to you as he saunters to his dresser. There’s a dagger tattooed between his shoulder blades. 

“Miss me?” he asks as he digs pajamas out of his drawer. 

When you don’t respond, he peeks over his shoulder. Your gaze is directed towards the ceiling.  

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Sorry. I’m just tired.” 

He hums. Your silence takes root beneath his skin and yields a certain self-consciousness. It wasn’t like you to be so disengaged. Not when it came to him. There was no denying his magnetism, even when he wasn’t actively trying to work the room. 

“Okay, what’s really going on?” Eddie walks to the side of the bed and stares down at you. “You’ve been acting funny all evening.” 

You push yourself upright, swinging your legs off the side of the bed. To buy yourself some time, you rub your eyes with your fists as if tiredness truly is to blame. There’s nowhere to hide when your hands inevitably drop back down to rest in your lap. Still, Eddie fails to get a read. 

“Talk to me, Goose.” He taps your chin with a gentle knuckle. “Is that gas station shit really bothering you that bad?” Eddie winces at his own irritation. “That came out wrong. Shit.” 

He takes a deep breath. “I honestly didn’t think it was that big of a deal. The guy had what was coming to him.”

“I care about you, is all,” you say. “Am I allowed to do that?” 

His eyes are apologetic as he looks down at you. “You’re allowed.” 

“No more secrets, right?” you say. “That’s what you promised.” 

Eddie nods slowly, unsure of where this conversation is headed. 

“That means we let each other in,” you continue. 

“You’re in, baby.” 

You bite your lower lip.

“I saw something earlier. Drawings of me that you’ve done.” 

“I sketch you all the time.” 

A few seconds pass before you bring yourself to speak again. “Not the sketches. The actual drawings. The detailed ones.” 

Eddie stills as if turned to alabaster. He looks away from you, but you don’t look away from him as silence permeates the air like a slow rising fog. Color rises in his cheeks, then the tips of his ears. If he doesn’t move, maybe he’ll wake up. Maybe he’ll disappear. A few seconds pass like an hour. The world begins turning again when you take his hand in yours, gently brushing over the back with your thumb. 

Reality fades back in slowly. His breaths, your breaths, his thick swallow. 

“They caught me off guard,” you admit. 

Like a severed branch, his hand falls away from yours. His Adam’s apple bobs as he considers what to say in the wake of embarrassment that toes the line of frustration. 

Eddie’s eyes find their way back to yours. “We’re going through each other’s things now?” 

“I was looking for film for your camera,” you explain. “Pictures fell out of the sketchbook, and when I went to put them back—” 

“They don’t mean anything.” His words are void of any conviction. 

You hold his gaze until his shoulders sag with the weight of the truth. “I’ve never had this, alright?” He makes a weak motion between the two of you. “Someone who makes me feel the way you do.” 

You nod for him to continue. 

“I think about you all the fucking time.” His voice comes out shy and gruff. “You’re beautiful.” 

“So they do mean something.”

“But now you probably just think they’re perverted when it’s not like that at all,” he accuses with a slight waver in his voice. You’ve never seen him quite like this. Frazzled in a raw, open way. “It’s the trust aspect—fuck, I’m not making any sense.” 

He runs his hands through his hair and paces a few steps away. You study the tattoos on his torso. Audentes Fortuna Iuvat is scripted just beneath his collarbones with a slight upwards curve; Latin for fortune favors the bold. A symmetrical, abstract pair of angel wings span beneath it. There’s also the small inverted crucifix on his sternum. The snake curled on the right side of his ribcage beneath his pecs. A considerable host of others have made a canvas out of his skin as well.  

“So help me understand,” you insist. 

You’re messing with him now. You have to be. This is his punishment for ever daring to put his pencil to the paper in that way. A few beats of silence pass.

“Are those things you wanna try?” you coax. 

He finally musters the courage to look at you again. “There’s so much I wanna try with you.” There’s a weighted look in his gaze, like the sentiments it bears stretch beyond this moment. “I wanna do life with you.” 

Warmth kindles in your chest at his words. “Well, here I am,” you say. “Gonna have to try harder to scare me away.” 

A humorless laugh escapes him, but it’s true. Here you are. 

“None of this was ever about the fight or the drawings, E,” you start. “It’s about you. I don’t want you to think you have to keep things from me.” 

You nearly fall into the depths of his eyes as they bore into yours. 

“I can’t mess this up too.” His voice comes out smaller than you’ve heard it. He wouldn’t make it to the other side of losing you.  

“It’s gonna take something terrible for that.” You think for a moment. “Like you cutting off all that gorgeous hair.” 

Eddie laughs. The sound coaxes you to your feet and over to him, where he cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours. His breath catches in his throat when he feels your fingertips ghost along his waistline where the towel is secured. 

•••

Just relax. 

Those were the words you’d uttered to him a few short moments ago before you tugged his towel down and stripped yourself of your clothes. If anything, it was more like a purr. Something about that low, melodic tone always worked with him. Even when he was the one desperate to get his mouth and hands on you. He listened because you always handled him with care. Always made it good for him. 

The sound that leaves him now seems broken, but Eddie’s never felt more whole. His arms shake where they’re braced behind him on the bed, and his spread thighs tremble. You look up at him from your kneeling position on the carpet before him without pulling away from mouthing at the warm, velvety weight between his thighs that hang like two joint fruits. They draw up when you pay keen attention to one side, making a suctioning motion with your mouth that makes him curse beneath his breath. 

He curls forward with a pleasured groan when you take the entirety of his length into your mouth. The sweet drag of your lips, paired with the encompassing warmth, makes his head spin. You venture down halfway before drawing back up to suckle on the tip with a glimmer in your eyes. Eddie doesn’t get through his next shudder before your lips are descending again, this time all the way to where curly dark hair rests at his base. 

You can feel every vein and pulse along the way. His stomach quivers at the sight as something hot stirs low in his gut. 

One of his hands settles at the back of your head, but he doesn’t push or pull. It’s a grounding gesture. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you pull back up, taking your time. At the top, you lap over his slit, where another pearly bead has formed. He huffs out a ragged breath when you begin to place lingering kisses over the head, then allow your tongue to gently trace along the slightly raised edge that separates it from the rest of his shaft. 

A selfish part of him wants more. 

“Angel…” he sighs. 

You hum around him curiously when he’s back in your mouth. Eddie knows you’re trying to make him cave and guide you into what he wants. His fingers twitch with hesitance at first, but then he applies just enough pressure to encourage you back down. You’re gracious enough to fall into your own bobbing rhythm thereafter. 

His breath stutters when one of your hands dip between your thighs to begin rubbing easy circles over your bud as your mouth continues to work him like a dream. You clench around nothing as warmth and pleasure pool between your thighs. 

“That’s so hot,” he grouses. 

You pull off of him, saliva slinking between your lips and his arousal. “Is it?” you murmur coyly. 

He nods earnestly, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. What he’s not expecting is for you to sit back on your knees and redirect all your attention to yourself, bringing one hand up to cup your breast. Your cheeks warm at your own boldness. He’d seen you like this in his mind and on the page, but only you could bring the vision to life. There’s a pleasant rush to that sort of power. 

He kicks up towards his stomach when you release an airy hum as your middle finger drifts down to run along your entrance and collect the thick moisture gathered there. He scoots closer to the nightstand and grabs a condom from the drawer. Eddie strokes himself a few careful times, stopping before the tide can rise. You watch with shining eyes as he rips the foil open and slides the rubber down himself. 

“C’mere,” he rasps, repositioning fully onto the bed. “Wanna make you feel good.” 

You bite your lip as you gently probe your entrance, maintaining eye contact even as your face burns. “Think you do it better?” 

“You already know the answer.” There’s no overt cockiness in his tone. Just a steady sort of confidence that makes your stomach flutter. 

An invisible flip switches. No doubt, because he finally feels as though it’s allowed to. You can’t pinpoint the exact moment, but you feel the aftermath. It’s in the way he becomes firmer; he isn’t rough, but you can feel the strength behind his movements more than you usually do. It’s also in the way he lifts his head from your center when you’re mere seconds away from falling into thralls of something your entire body craves. 

You plead with your eyes as you meet his gaze, frustrated and desperate all the same. His lips upturn in a small smile that’s barely there. Your thighs fall open as he leans back down, and the fan of his breath makes you shiver. His mouth and fingers have already made you slick with arousal, only to leave you right on the edge. 

“Eddie, please.”

He gently parts you open and presses a gentle kiss to your clit before suckling it into his mouth. You whimper and cant your hips upwards into his face, but he moves away. 

“Easy,” he coos. 

You breathe an apology as he presses his middle finger to your swollen bud and circles it nice and slow. A whimper escapes you as you squirm, trying your best to keep your hips down. As maddening as it is, you like this little game. The challenge. If he maintains this same pressure and speeds up just so, you know it’d be enough to get you there. He knows that too. 

Everything hinges on his call. Eddie’s been at the helm even though he let you think you were for a time.

“Who does it better?” he asks. 

Your stomach flips. “You, Eddie—c’mon.” You huff an exasperated chuckle in spite of yourself. Eddie bites back a smile. Then your voice dips into a tone that’s impossibly sweet. It reminds him just how much he burns with desire himself. “Keep showing me how much better.” 

Eddie braces himself overtop of you and notches at your slick warmth. It takes a moment for him to gather himself, but when he does, he slips into you with ease. Each inch is welcomed with the same steady pressure, all the way until he’s buried entirely. 

While you hum at the fullness, he moans from being welcomed in so wholly. Even though you’re the one stretched to accommodate him, it’s him who needs a moment to get acclimated. It feels like he’s seconds away from falling apart, and he sure as hell isn’t ready to test the theory. 

When you circle your hips in a silent encouragement for him to move, he stills you with a steady hand. You make another attempt.  

“Angel, wait,” he weakly complains. It’s half desperate, half amused. 

“But I need you,” you murmur. 

That’s enough to spur him into an easy rhythm. Your mouth falls open, and he can’t help but run his thumb over your bottom lip. You surprise yourself when you poke your tongue out. Eddie takes a leap of faith and pushes it just past your lips. You close your mouth around it and give it a weak suck before he pulls it back out. 

As it turns out, life imitates art too.  

“You feel so good,” Eddie pants. “Taking me so well, aren’t you?” 

“Mhmm.”

His thrusts reach deeper when you hook your legs around him, eyes briefly scrunching closed as he meets that tender spot within you that threatens to make everything wound tight inside of you unravel. 

Your hands move to scratch down his back, and his hips stutter at the steady pressure of your nails. So you do it again, a little harder, and it sends a strong shiver through him that feels unfairly good. When your hands smooth back around to his chest, fingers grazing his nipples, he manages to gather your wrists in his hands and pin them above your head. Your chest pushes into his.  

“I’m close,” you breathe. “So full.” 

A groan rises in his throat. “Not until I say, alright?” 

Your whine borders on petulant, but you nod anyway. Eddie kisses you for it. First, on your lips, then he trails a few more sloppy, lazy kisses down your chin. When he pulls away, he lets go of your wrists and braces that forearm beside your head, breaths heavy. He’s so close, you can see the faint sun freckles dotted over the bridge of his nose. The grind of his pelvis against your clit makes you clench around him. 

Your breath hitches. “I’m gonna—”

“Not yet, angel,” he says, even as he lowers a hand between your bodies to rub that pulsing part of you with just the right amount of pressure as he continues his deep thrusts. It’s the furthest thing from fair, and he knows it.  

Your mind grows fuzzy with a sudden swell of pleasure that borders on panic. “Eddie, baby, I can’t,” you whimper. “You’re gonna make me come. Please—” 

“Go on, angel,” he soothes. The wave crashes. “That’s it, there you go.”

You close your mouth to stifle the helpless sound that rises up your throat as you arch beneath him. Immediately, you’re thrown into a suspended place where all you can feel is yourself fluttering around him in strong pulses as warmth floods your entire being, pulling him in. He guides you through it with gentle praises that barely register to your ears. 

With a guttural sound Eddie buries himself within your warmth and lets go, his abdomen flexing with each wave that shoots through him. As the radiating pleasure dwindles, he touches his forehead to yours, and your lips just barely brush as you catch your breaths. You raise your hands to his neck to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. He shivers, then jolts with sensitivity as you shift beneath him.  

“Sorry,” you whisper. 

Eddie shakes his head. “You’re fine,” he breathes. “You’re perfect. Don’t deserve you.” 

“You’re gonna give me a complex,” you murmur. 

Eddie chuckles and grasps the base of himself to slowly pull out. The loss draws shuddering exhales out of both of you. He’s overcome by a surge of fondness and gratitude. 

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod as he dots a few kisses to your neck. “Hey, Eddie.” You cup his cheek to get his attention and he nearly melts at the content way you look up at him with slow, sleepy blinks. “Maybe next time you can tie me up.” A small smile plays on your lips, but you mean it. Even though the thought alone gives you wild butterflies. 

Eddie’s swallow doesn’t let on how dizzy the thought makes him. “Yeah?” 

You offer a tired hum. “I trust you.” That alone means everything. 

And with him, you wanted it all. 

-

Thanks for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all!

EDDIE MASTERLIST 

ALL MASTERLISTS

[taintandviolent]

Tangled ; Eddie Munson x Reader

summary: One lazy summer day, Eddie discovers something new about you when his rings get tangled in your hair.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 1.5K | female reader, established relationship, smut, use of pet names (princess, sweetheart, baby, etc.), light praise, no use of y/n, hair pulling kink, soft dom Eddie if you squint, fingering, p in v, doggy style.

a/n: this was an anon request! I hope you enjoy, wherever you are! divider by @/strangergraphics!!

fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

It started out innocently. Really. It did. 

A warm, summer breeze drifts through the trailer. The two of you sit on his mattress, sheets strewn about, and your bodies snuggled together like the lovebirds you are. Wayne’s out of town, so you’ve been spending as many nights at his house as you can, sleeping in his bed and waking up in his hot, bare arms. You wouldn’t trade that feeling for the world, if anyone offered. 

Today, you’re lazily thumbing through a copy of Teen Beat. He’s sloppily sketching out ideas for his next campaign with his left hand, and absent-mindedly, the ringed fingers of his right hand play with strands of your hair, twirling them around his digits. A sudden pain erupts over your scalp, sending a bolt of electricity right to your core. Feeling sudden resistance, Eddie panics, pulling his hand away, which pulls your hair harder. He’s snagged a knot on one of his rings; specifically, the pig. 

“Shit-shit-sorr–!” 

As he yanks away, you tilt your head back to lean into him, a lewd, high-pitched moan falling from your mouth. So lewd, that Eddie freezes mid-pull, and looks at you, brows high on his forehead. You immediately clap your hand over your mouth, as if that could take it back. 

“What… was that?”

“Ummm… I… it hurt.” 

He smirks, his full pink lips spreading across his teeth. “That didn’t sound like it hurt, princess.”

In one strong movement, Eddie has you on top of him, straddling him. Like a serpent, his hand slowly slithers up your spine, to the nape of your neck and into your hair. He makes a fist in the soft tresses and tugs softly, not enough to hurt, but enough to elicit another reaction from you.. The reaction is similar; your eyes roll back in your head, and your thighs squeeze his as you try to clamp them together. A desperate little whining sound comes from your mouth, and Eddie, beneath you, is absolutely beaming. 

“Someone likes their hair pulled, I see.” He has that dominant, theatric voice he uses in campaigns. Damn him.

You scramble, trying to defend yourself. “I do not! It's just… I was…” 

“Uh-huh, you were uh-huh.” He teases and tugs again, a little bit harder than before. This time, you bite your lip, your hands finding and gripping his bare shoulders. 

“Eddie, stop…!” You plead, though it sounds as fake as it feels. He’s too smart to believe that. 

The look in his pretty, chocolatey brown eyes says everything; he’s not going to let up until you admit it. He grips your hair at the back of your skull, tugging it tight and pulling your head back slightly. Your jaw drops, your eyelids fluttering shut. Between your legs, you can already feel the telltale throbbing, the damp heat accumulating. His voice is low and lusty, something he knows is a weakness of yours. He could get you going just by talking, but when he uses that particular voice… you’re done for. 

“Sweetheart, c’mon… look at you. You’re practically coming undone just like this. You know you don’t need to be shy around me…” He pulls again, and you whimper. 

“Eddie….” you mewl, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. You feel his free hand tap your jaw a few times, bringing you back to him. He knows that you close your eyes to avoid dealing with things – another way you can’t weasel out. 

“Ah-ah. Eyes on me, baby.” 

You lock eyes with him, and your resolve crumbles. He’s giving you that look, the one that oozes mischief, playfulness and hunger, the one he gives you right before he pounces on you, tackling you to the bed. 

You take a big breath, and say it all in one breath. “Okay, fine, that felt really good and it turned me on. Happy now?” 

“Immeasurably.” 

Eddie brings your body closer to him, guiding you right to his waiting lips. You’re glad you’re already on your knees, because the kiss that he plants on you is enough to bring you there if you weren’t. It’s loaded with a newfound hunger; he loves finding out things about you. Even though you two have been dating for a few months now, he always thinks you’re like a little puzzle box, spring loaded with secret compartments that hold more untold secrets. The hair pulling was one of them. 

“Let’s put it to the test, shall we?” 

He drums out a little rhythm on the fullness of your hips, urging you up off him. You flop over backwards onto the bed, onto your elbows, and watch him as he crawls on all fours towards you. As he does, he frees his swelling erection. Only clad in a pair of plaid boxers, he doesn’t have much to shed. Neither do you, for that matter, as you’re in a cute little nightgown and nothing else. Eddie pushes the satin up your thighs, revealing your glistening cunt. 

“Sweetheart, sweetheart…. Look at this.” He runs a single finger along your slit, and your body shudders. “Such a mess.” 

Though he doesn’t need any help getting himself hard, one hand wraps around his cock, pumping it slowly in and out of his fist as he gazes over your body. There’s something so… domestic about the way you’re looking at him, waiting for him to fuck you. He exhales through his nose, smiling, and leans forward to press a kiss to your bare stomach. His finger ghosts a path down your tummy, all the way to the soft mound between your legs. Gradually, he teases your entrance, spreading your arousal over your folds until you’re coated in it.  He brings his thumb down over your clit and traces it in tight circles, pleasuring you until your thighs start to quiver – his favorite thing. Quivering like a scared little bunny in his hands… drives him crazy. You blindly reach for his forearm, feeling for the warm skin. God damn guitar players…. Their stupid nimble fingers….

“Turn around, pretty girl,” he hums.

You’re more than eager to complete his request, flipping over onto all fours. You lower yourself back down onto your elbows and in doing so, stick your ass up for him to admire. Tenderly, Eddie reaches forward to gather all your hair into a ponytail before giving it a firm tug. Your whole body spasms with pleasure; your cunt throbs and your back arches up into a tantalizing curve. 

“Fuck,” Eddie grunts from behind you, lining the leaking, flushed tip of his cock up with your waiting slit. The head nudges your folds, twitching against them in anticipation. You brace yourself, taking fistfuls of the sheet below you. “Ready, baby?” 

You nod against the mattress.

“Words, princess. We talked about this.” 

“Mhm…. please fuck me, Eddie. I wanna’ feel you…” 

That’s all he needs. He sinks himself inside of you, until his torso is pressed against the firm curve of your ass. The feeling of his cock is always enough to get you off – it always does. But when Eddie tightens his fist around your ponytail and yanks it hard, you let out a moan that is loud enough to rattle the trailer’s windows. He finds his rhythm easily, rutting his hips furiously against your ass and keeps a firm grip on your hair, almost using it as leverage to pull into you. 

“Fuck, fuck… oh my god…. Oh my god, Eddie!!” 

He pulls harder, and a melange of pain and pleasure erupts at the crown of your head – you swear you’re seeing stars at this point. 

“You like that, baby? Huh?” Eddie asks, breathlessly. 

“Yeaaaah…!” A pressure builds above your sopping cunt, feeling white hot. The room is filled with the sounds of skin against skin, and the wet, slick sounds of your cunt as Eddie buries himself inside you. The air is heavy with the scent of sex and you’re breathing it in deeply, each of your breaths laboured and loud.

“Fuck yeah, baby… oh fuck…” 

Eddie thrusts hard, burying himself to the hilt and pulls back out, admiring the way your pussy clenches around him like it’s trying to pull him back in. His cock aches, you know it does, because the few seconds spent away from your cunt, you can hear him stroking himself, nudging your entrance with the cockhead. He’s trying not to come. He’s edging himself. Something he only did when he was really worked up. 

“I’m gonna’... Eddie, I’m gonna’ come… fuck me.” 

Wasting no time, Eddie sheaths himself back inside, and presses his stomach against your back, angling his lips next to your ear. He pulls hard on your hair, and you bend your neck back, screaming out in ecstasy. Hot, erotic tears prick the corners of your eyes as Eddie pulls, fucking into like his life depends on it. When he finally speaks, it’s a hissed whisper, and sends a chill down your spine. 

“You like that, huh? My good girl likes her hair pulled, doesn’t she?” 

“Yes, yes! GOD! YES!” 

Your cunt clenches around him like a vice, warm and slick, as your orgasm washes over you. Eddie feels it – but he doesn’t stop thrusting. He chases his own orgasm, humping you feverishly, and in doing so, pulls another screaming two orgasms from you. He laughs breathily as his thrusts slow, hips rolling against the curve of your ass. You can hear the smile in his laugh, and collapse against the sheet. 

“I learn something new about you every day, princess. Every damn day.”

[wonderlandwalker]

Fake It 'til You Break It

𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 / 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: steve harrington x fem!reader 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.8k 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Steve’s always been good at pretending. The problem? This doesn’t feel like pretend anymore. Now he’s stuck between two nightmares: watching you walk away when the act ends… or risking everything to make it real. 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: hurt/comfort mostly, my attempt at the fake dating trope, some spice of course, i've stared at this way too long so possibly continuity errors or too many synonyms

𝐚/𝐧: this might be a mess but it's a mess I made with love, might come back and edit it later, might redo the whole thing, but wanted to give you guys at least something after all this time, thanks for sticking around <3

There are plenty of things Steve regrets—a running list that gnaws at him in the quiet hours, the kind of thoughts that coil around his ribs and squeeze just enough to remind him they’re there.

He regrets his high school persona, with a shame so visceral it still makes his fucking skin crawl; God, the hair gel alone should’ve been classified as a war crime. He thinks about it when he passes the Hawkins High parking lot, when he catches a whiff of that godawful Axe body spray Dustin insists on dousing himself in, and when some old classmate gives him that look—the one that says,  I remember who you used to be.

But this?

This isn’t regret. No, that's too small, too flimsy a word for the way his chest caves in when he catches the scent of your perfume already clinging to his shirt. The vibration of your hum—low, amused, content—as you agree with something Robin says (fuck, what was Robin even talking about? Politics? Movies? That weird new video game?) travels straight through his chest like the most beautiful kind of devastation.  You’re right there, tucked against his side like you belong there, your warmth seeping into him like he’d hollowed out a space in his torso just for you. It’s not regret that winds around his throat like a noose he’d gladly tighten himself.

He regrets not visiting Aunt Cathy in Little Rock before she passed. She’d sent him those lumpy handmade sweaters every Christmas, each one uglier than the last, and he’d never even thanked her properly. Just a grumbled "Thanks, I guess" tossed into the receiver during some obligatory holiday phone call, already distracted by whatever party he was missing. Now, the last one she ever made—a pea-green monstrosity with lopsided orange reindeer, mustard-yellow accents that could blind a man, and sleeves so long they swallow his hands whole—sits neatly folded in his bottom drawer. He can’t bring himself to wear it. Can’t bring himself to get rid of it, either.

He regrets getting careless last summer, leaving that half-smoked joint on his nightstand like an idiot before his parents got back from Tokyo. His father’s lecture about "the dangers of marijuana" had been particularly rich coming from a man who kept Cuban cigars locked in a humidor like they were fucking crown jewels. (Not that Steve cared. Not that he ever cared what that man thought—except, well. Except.)

But those were warm-up acts.

Minor-league regrets.

The main event? 

The heavyweight champion of his fuck-ups?

The gold medal, hall of fame, once-in-a-lifetime screwup that’ll haunt him to his grave?

This.

This is one of those moments people invent time machines to undo. The kind of mistake that makes men swear off alcohol, religion, and women all at once. There’s a fire somewhere inside him, but it’s not the good kind—not the warm, crackling hearth of something real. It’s the sputtering, desperate flame of a match held too close to skin, the kind that leaves blisters if you’re not careful. His brain has rehearsed this moment so often that muscle memory takes over as his thoughts are stuck. He still interjects at the right moments, laughs at the right beats, and plays the perfect doting boyfriend with terrifying precision. The irony is a blade twisting inside him: after so long of pretending not to love you, now he’s being judged on his performance of pretending to.

God, Robin really has the uncanny ability to turn his world upside down without even meaning to. When she first brought it up, her words had been going a mile a minute, tripping over each other like a drunk gymnast, her mouth running faster than her brain, and he should’ve known right then:

Category Five Disaster.

Code Red.

Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here.

"—so… I suggested we could go on a double date to make it more, y’know, casual." Her grin hadn’t wavered, even as you blinked at her, slow and uncertain. "What does this have to do with us, Robs?" you finally asked, voice laced with the same wary suspicion that was crawling up Steve’s spine like a particularly persistent spider. 

"Because you're the ones we're going on a double date with, duh!" She had beamed, absurdly pleased with herself, looking for all the world like she’d just solved cold fusion. "Whoa, whoa, whoa."  He had cut in, holding up a hand like a traffic cop. His pulse hammering—a wild, traitorous thing. He had shoved it back down into the dark where it belonged. "I don't know what delusional world you've been living in, Buckley, but we—" He jabbed a finger between you and himself with more force than necessary, "—are not dating."

The words tasted like acid on his tongue, burning all the way down.

Which was stupid.

Because it’s the truth. 

You’re not dating.

You’ve never dated.

Except in his head.

And it's fine.

Totally, completely, achingly fine.

Except—

Except for the way his breath stutters in his chest when morning light catches you just right, turning your features golden and ethereal like some Renaissance painting he’s not devout enough to worship.

Except for the way he’s painstakingly catalogued every variation of your laugh—the inelegant snort you immediately try to smother with your hand, the full-bodied one that makes you double over and clutch your stomach, the quiet, private chuckle you reserve exclusively for his dumbest jokes, and the one that somehow makes him feel like he’s won the goddamn lottery.

And now Robin wanted him to casually drape his arm over your shoulders like he had any right to touch you so familiarly?

To press a kiss to your temple and act like his heart isn’t trying to beat its way out of his chest like it’s making a prison break?

To call you "sweetheart" with all the easy affection he’s been choking back for months, the pet names piling up behind his teeth like an infatuated dragon hoarding woeful treasure?

That wouldn’t just be dangerous—that's downright suicidal.

It’s handing a loaded gun to his weakest impulses and praying he has the self-control not to pull the trigger.

But he’s backed into a corner with no exits, no clever quips, and no patented Steve Harrington Charm™ that can talk his way out of this.  If he refuses, Robin’s going to poke and prod like a determined archaeologist at a dig site until she uncovers the pathetic fossil of his crush, dusting it off for the whole world to see. If he agrees…

Christ.

He might as well just drop to one knee right here in the food court, ring made from a soda tab, and confess every embarrassing, lovesick thought that’s kept him awake at 3 a.m. for months. 

"—come onnnn, you two both owe me one!"  Robin had continued to whine, limbs flailing so dramatically she nearly sent her Diet Coke flying. Her foot connected with Steve’s shin under the table—a sharp kick that would’ve hurt if his entire nervous system wasn’t already short-circuiting. He shoved her away with a grumble that did nothing to hide the panic clawing up his throat. So he fixed her with his best withering glare—but it looked more like a man facing the gallows. "This isn’t the same as eating the last of the takeout, Robs."

"Oh, but it is," she countered, stabbing a finger in his direction with enough force to displace air molecules. "You literally stole my last egg roll—which, by the way, was clearly marked with my initials—"  (Steve mouthed 'psycho' at you over his shoulder — because seriously, who the hell initials their egg rolls? His reward was that poorly suppressed grin of yours, the one that makes his stomach perform acrobatics worthy of Cirque du Soleil. The way your lips quirk unevenly, one side rising higher than the other in that lopsided smile he's come to crave, eyes crinkling at the corners like you're trying to contain sunlight — he could write sonnets about that expression if he knew anything about poetry beyond what he'd skimmed in senior English) "—you said, and I quote," Robin went on as she adopted a terrible impression of his voice, all lowered pitch and exaggerated bravado," 'I'll pay you back someday.' Well, guess what, Harrington? Today is someday."

And yeah, okay, maybe he had said that. In his defence, he was running on three hours of sleep and enough caffeine to kill a horse, and Robin had been mid-panic spiral about never finding love. But this? This was way beyond their usual favour economy of borrowed five-dollar bills and shitty closing shifts — this was playing Russian roulette with his heart as the bullet.

"And you," Robin whirled on you next with the terrifying focus of a bloodhound catching a scent, accusation dripping from her pointed finger. "Promised to help me 'get the girl' after the whole Dallas Cowboys cheerleader fiasco. This," she declared, slapping both hands on the sticky food court table with finality, "is me collecting."

Your mouth fell open in protest—tongue darting out to wet your lips in that unconscious gesture that's starred in approximately seven hundred of his late-night fantasies—before snapping shut again as you came up empty. He watched the debate play out across your features: the furrow between your brows, the way your teeth worried at your bottom lip. Every expression was a language he'd become fluent in without meaning to. Steve could practically hear the gears turning in your head, the same way they were grinding in his own skull.

His gaze flickers to you—always to you, like a compass finding true north even when he wishes it wouldn’t. God, what heinous acts did he commit in a past life to deserve this particular hell?  You and Robin are his best friends—his people. The ones who stayed up with him getting high and laughing at shitty B-movies, your thighs pressed together on the couch until the lines between friends and something more blurred in the haze of weed and sleep deprivation. He still remembers the way your head eventually lolled against his shoulder, how he’d sat there, paralysed by the possibilities. 

You’re the ones who were there for him when he shattered after his parents’ last nuclear fight, when the silence in that too-big house threatened to drown him. Your arms around his shaking shoulders, your voice soft in his“ ear—“You’re better than they’ll ever be, Steve.”

He’d almost kissed you that night.

Almost.

The memory still haunts him like a ghost he can’t exorcise: your face tilted toward his in the dim glow of the porch light, your breath hitching when his thumb brushed your cheek. For one reckless second, he’d let himself truly imagine it—closing the distance, swallowing your gasp, letting the dam break.

You've seen him at his worst—red-eyed and ugly with grief—and you stayed. Wrapped yourself around him like human armour against the world, your heartbeat steady against his back when his own couldn't find its rhythm. That alone should have been enough. Should have cauterised this stupid crush before it took root like some invasive weed cracking through concrete. Should have reminded him that what you have is too precious to risk for something as reckless, as temporary, as fleeting as romance. But then came that first perfidious flutter in his stomach months ago, that stupid, hopeful zing when your laughter curled around him like smoke from one of Robin's clove cigarettes—sweet and intoxicating and impossible to ignore. He'd written it off immediately as his brain's latest attempt to ruin something good (a speciality of his, really), except the feeling didn't fade. It grew, fed by every accidental touch and lingering glance until it became something monstrous and beautiful and utterly inescapable:

The way you'd bite your lip when concentrating, unaware of how his gaze snagged on the motion like fabric catching barbed wire, how his fingers twitched with the need to tug it free, to soothe the indentations with his tongue.

The way you'd stretch in the morning light after crashing at his place, the hem of your shirt riding up just enough to reveal that sliver of skin above your hipbone—a soft crescent that made his throat go dry, that made him ache with the knowledge that he could reach out, trace the dip of your waist with just one fingertip—but he won't, he can't, because you're trusting him to be better than that.

The way you'd sigh his name when tired, dragging out the last vowel like it was something precious, something yours, and he'd have to clench his jaw so hard his molars ached against the urge to beg you to say it again, again, just like that, maybe against his mouth this time, maybe with his hands on your—

Now he's trapped in this sick parody of everything he's ever wanted—your body warm against his on the couch, your smiles sweet and fake, your touches choreographed for an audience like some grotesque puppet show. Every time he whispers "babe" (a word that tastes like sacrilege in his mouth), every time he laces his fingers with yours and pretends not to notice how perfectly they fit together, every time he pulls you closer under the guise of selling this lie (just because he can, just because for these stolen moments, you let him)—it's all salt in the wound.

And he knows this is the closest he'll ever get to having you—playing pretend for Vickie's benefit, his heart drumming against his chest with every touch he's not allowed to mean. Because even if—if—there is some part of you that feels it too (that invisible magnetic pull, that quiet hum and deep vibration when his fingers brush yours like a struck tuning fork), there are just too many variables. Too many landmines are hidden in this no-man's land.

Maybe he'd get a few weeks of heaven before you realised he wanted way more than you ever could. Maybe he'd find a way to screw it up like he always does, condemning himself to a lifetime of awkward pauses and avoidant glances every time your paths crossed. Or worse—maybe, maybe, even if you fell for him as badly as he's fallen for you, this dream he's conjured up would still be an impossible standard. A fantasy no real person could live up to, least of all a washed-up king with nothing but a handful of half-kept promises to his name.

But his performance opposite you is working too well—the Romeo to your Juliet (star-crossed and bleeding out), the Heathcliff to your Cathy (ruined and howling on the moors). The world watches staged romance through rose-tinted glasses, seeing only what it wants to see. Stolen glances mistaken for tenderness rather than theft. Casual touches interpreted as affection instead of self-flagellation. Devotion is heard in the harmony of your laughter rather than the dissonance of his slow unravelling.

These have never been love stories.

This has always been a tragedy dressed up as romance—all the warning signs painted over in pretty pastels. There's no happy ending waiting in the wings, no last-minute reprieve where the audience learns it was all a bad dream. Just the whirlwind of maybes and the inevitable collapse, the credits rolling over two people who used to know how to look each other in the eye.

Steve knows doomed narratives like he knows the scars on his knuckles—intimately, painfully. Could chart their progression from meet-cute to catastrophe with his eyes closed. He can pinpoint the exact moment the script flips—in the arch of an eyebrow, the hesitation before a touch. He's lived this story before and knows all its variations by heart.

His fantasies might be vivid.

But the reality is crushing.

The effortless synchronicity you two normally share is already gone, replaced by something jagged and electric—every glance a live wire threatening to burn everything down, every touch a lit fuse that comes dangerously close to the gasoline running in his veins. It's like dancing on a knife's edge where every step could either cut him open or set him free. The hesitation terrifies him—the way his fingers twitch toward you instinctively before he remembers with a gut-punch of awareness: he's allowed to touch you now. 

Supposed to, even.

But God, it hurts.

Because it's not real.

And yet—

And yet he'll drink the poison willingly if it means he could stay in this play with you. Would let the curtain fall on him mid-scene if it meant pretending, just for one more night, that this might actually end well. He can tell you feel it too by the way your fingers linger a second too long on his wrist—just enough to feel his racing pulse. By the way, your breath hitches when he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear (for the bit, he reminds himself, even as his skin burns where you touch like he's been graced by something holy). By the way, your eyes keep finding his in the dim light, dark with something he doesn't dare name.

And then, like fate itself is laughing at him, Vickie leans forward with margarita-slick lips, her eyes bright with tipsy curiosity. The question hangs between you all, innocent and devastating.

"How did you two first start dating?"

Perhaps it's the tequila loosening his tongue, or the way the overhead lights reflect in your eyes like distant stars, or he's just so goddamn tired of lying that the truth starts clawing its way up his throat. Whatever the reason, the story spills out before he can stop it.

"It was the night of Robin's last birthday."

His voice is rough, scraped raw by the memory as he looks at you—seeing the ghost of that night superimposed over your face now. The way your nose had scrunched when you laughed at something stupid Eddie said. How he'd counted every one of your smiles like a man keeping track of his last breaths.

"We were both drunk, but not falling-over drunk. Just... loose. Happy." He doesn't say how beautiful you looked that night or how your laughter had turned into something he wanted to bottle and keep forever. Doesn't mention how he'd gone home and pressed his forehead to his bathroom mirror, begging his reflection to get it together as his hands shook.

"You kept leaning into me—shoulder against mine, knee bumping my thigh. Normal shit." His throat bobs like he's swallowing glass.

"But then—" God, he can still feel it—the weight of your palm on his chest through his thin shirt, the way his heart had leapt like a fucking dog on a chain, wild and desperate. The way you'd noticed.

"—You put your hand on my chest and said—" ‘Steve,’ you'd murmured, voice thick and slow with gin and something sweeter, ‘your heart's going crazy.’ Like it was a fascinating scientific discovery. Like you hadn't just signed his death warrant.

"—something stupid." He huffs a laugh, sharp and humourless.

"And I just... knew. Right then."

Knew he was fucked.

Knew he'd never recover.

Knew he'd rather live in this harrowing limbo of almosts and not-quites than risk losing you entirely.

Robin is staring at him now, her expression a mix of dawning horror and pity.

She knows. 

Knows this isn't part of the act.

Knows he's just handed you his still-beating heart on a silver platter.

And you—

You're looking at him like you've never seen him before. Like he's just peeled back his flesh and exposed every pathetic, yearning part of himself.

That's when you rip the script right out of his hands.

Within a second, your lips are on his—actually, wholeheartedly on his—warm and slightly sticky from margarita salt, tasting of lime and something sweeter. It’s slow and deliberate and agonising in its gentleness, the way your hand finds the nape of his neck like you’ve spent nights tracing the curve of his spine in the dark, memorising the way his breath hitches when your fingers brush just beneath his hairline. Time stretches, warps into an alternate reality where your sigh vibrates against his mouth like a second heartbeat.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice whispers, This is a mistake. There’s no coming back from this.

And then, too soon, before he can even properly react, it’s over.

Steve is pretty sure he just died and went to heaven. Or hell. At this point, he can’t tell the difference anymore. Now that he knows what you taste like—now that he knows the reality is a hundred times better than any of his desperate daydreams could have conjured—it takes every ounce of self-control not to drag you back in and ruin himself completely. His hands twitch at his sides, fingers curling into his palms just to keep from reaching for you. There’s a heat crawling up your cheeks, lashes fluttering like you’re caught in a storm. There’s an uncertainty in your eyes he’s never seen before—which is rare, because Steve has every expression you’ve ever made meticulously catalogued in the neat file cabinets of his brain: the way your nose scrunches when you’re trying not to laugh, the way your lips press together when you’re annoyed but pretending not to be, and the way your eyes soften when you think no one’s looking.

But this look—like you’re caught between absolution and damnation, like you’ve just stepped off a ledge and aren’t sure if you’re falling or flying—he doesn’t know it. Doesn’t know how to read it.

Doesn’t know if he’s supposed to reach for you or let you go.

He’s spent years perfecting the art of smooth exits and practiced charm, of knowing exactly when to lean in and when to pull away. But right now? With you?

After all this time of carefully rehearsing his lines, he’s been thrust into an improv scene in front of a live audience, and for the first time in his life, Steve Harrington has stage fright.

A beat passes.

Then another.

The silence stretches, suffocating.

His heart lurches, heavy with possibility, and he’s not sure he can survive the fallout if he’s wrong.

The rational part of his brain—the part that still remembers how to breathe—tells him this is just another layer of the performance. That you kissed him because it was easier than finding the right words, because the script demanded it, because, of course, you’d commit to the lie rather than let it crumble in front of Vickie. Of course you’d give him the one thing he’s always wanted without letting him know if he’s allowed to want more of it.

But the part of him that’s hopelessly, ruinously in love with you?

That part doesn’t care.

It will take whatever scraps you’re willing to give him—every staged endearment, any kiss that isn’t real but feels like it could be. And all those careful promises he made himself (don’t ruin this, don’t cross the line, don’t fucking dare fuck this all up) are gone, incinerated in the wake of your lips on his. The Library of Alexandria his heart has built for you is collapsing in flames, and you’re the one holding the torch. Every boundary he’s painstakingly written down in careful self-denial blackens at the edges like ancient parchment tossed into the wildfire.

But he’s just as much to blame.

He lit the match the moment he said yes  to this charade.

And God help him, he’ll let the fire turn him to ash if you’ll just stay this close a little longer—with those eyes that see straight through his constructed bullshit to the raw foundation beneath. Like his thoughts are a precious collection of first editions you’re desperate to read but are worried will fall apart in your hold before you get the chance to finish the preface. Like he’s something worth keeping close rather than the human equivalent of a ‘kick me’ sign taped to the universe’s back.

Like maybe—maybe—you’ve noticed the way his breath hitches when you enter a room and finally decided you like the power more than you fear its implications. He’ll choke on the smoke of this fantasy and pretend it’s oxygen if it means breathing the same air as you for just a few more seconds. He’ll gladly let his lungs blacken with the residue of this exquisite cataclysm, swallow every burning ember of inevitability if you’d just let him.

He’s leaning in again before he realises it—drawn like a moth to the flame, knowing it will kill him but too starved to care. The barely-there hitch of your breath is all the encouragement he needs, his body moving on autopilot, already addicted to the way you—

"That’s so romantic!"

Vickie’s voice shatters the moment, fracturing the fragile illusion into a thousand glittering shards.

You jerk back, blinking rapidly like someone waking from a dream, and Steve’s stomach plummets.

Right.

Romantic.

Not devastating.

Not life-altering.

Not I’ve been in love with you, and that kiss just rewired my fucking DNA.

Just… romantic.

The Rosaline he never stood a chance with—except in this version, he doesn’t move on, doesn’t get over it. He’s stuck in the first act of hardship, perpetually wondering, perpetually trying, while the audience watches with pity. In this version, he burns as time slips by in a haze of forced laughter and brittle smiles, but Steve’s internal clock is jammed—stuck on that single, breathless minute when your lips were on his and the world stopped.

He catches you staring every so often, your lips slightly parted like you’re holding back words—or maybe waiting for his. And there’s Vickie, still chattering away, blissfully oblivious to the way the air between you two has gone thick with everything unsaid.

It’s dangerous, this hope. Because if it isn’t fake for you either, if that kiss meant something—

But before he can even begin to untangle that thought—before he can decide if he’s terrified or thrilled by the idea that you might feel it too—Robin grabs his wrist and yanks him up towards the kitchen under the flimsy guise of "helping refill the snacks". The second the door swings shut behind them, she whirls on him, her voice a hissed whisper.

"What the hell was that, Steve?"

He doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. He can’t. Not when the memory of your mouth on his is seared into every synapse, not when his pulse hasn’t slowed since the moment you pulled away.  Robin’s eyes are wild, her hands gesturing erratically as she steps closer, backing him against the wall like she’s about to interrogate him. Steve opens his mouth—to argue, to deny, to something—

"I don’t know," he admits, running a hand through his hair—tugging at the roots like he’s trying to channel Munchausen, like he could physically pull the solution out of himself. "I can’t—fuck, Robin, I can’t keep doing this." Her expression flickers—sympathy warring with alarm. "What do you mean?"

"This." The word cracks between them, jagged and desperate. "Me and her. The—"the pretending." His throat burns, like the truth is acid on its way up. He exhales, the breath shuddering out of him like he’s been punched. "It’s horrible."

And it is.

It’s horrible because it’s too good. Because every laugh between you two is a shared secret, something fragile and precious that he hoards like a thief in the night. Because the kiss—the short, fake, perfect kiss—felt like coming home to a place he’d never been allowed to live in.

It’s horrible because he’s spent months carefully constructing walls between what he feels and what he shows, and now you’ve reduced them all to rubble. But he doesn’t get to continue; the door creaks, and when he turns—

You’re there.

Your face is pale, eyes wide and hurt for one fractured second before they shutter into something distant, something closed off.

His insides turn to lead.

Fuck.

"I was just—" Your voice is too light, too careful—the kind of tone you’d use with a stranger, with someone you’d rather forget. " —grabbing some more drinks."

You don’t meet his gaze as you brush past him, your shoulder barely skimming his, and Christ, it’s worse than if you’d shoved him. Steve is frozen, his pulse a frantic drumbeat against his ribs. Because he meant it—every word—but not like this. Not where you could hear it and twist it into something else. Not where it could hurt you.

His hands flex at his sides, useless.

Go after her.

Explain.

Beg.

But his feet stay rooted to the floor.

And for the first time since this started—since he let himself believe he could do this and walk away with his dignity intact—there's a terrible certainty crystallising in his chest like ice forming over a lake: if he doesn't get himself together, his nightmares of losing you for good will become a reality before he ever gets the chance to tell you the truth.

Before he can say,  It was never fake for me.

Before he can beg: Please don't walk away.

Before he can drop to his knees and confess that every touch, every laugh, and that godforsaken kiss has been real for him in ways that terrify him to his core.

Robin spares him one last look, caught between annoyance and sorrow, a silent battle raging behind her eyes about which fire to put out first—his stupidity or your hurt. The decision comes quickly as she turns on her heel to follow you, but not before shooting him a final glare that screams, 'What the fuck is wrong with you?' 

The rest of the night unfolds as the worst one of his life.

And that's saying something, considering the literal hellscape he's survived—but this slow unravelling of everything between you two? The way you’re pulling away? Retreating in that devastatingly subtle way of yours—carefully recalibrating every interaction like you're dismantling a bomb, trying to save yourself while simultaneously preventing the explosion of this lie. Every brush of your fingers against his—once electric, now agonising—feels like a choreographed step in a dance you no longer want to perform. He watches helplessly as you turn what used to be effortless connection into careful calculation, and it fucking destroys him.

He doesn't know how to fix this.

Doesn't even know where to start.

He'd watched from a distance as you talked to Robin, jaw clenched so tight his molars ached, hands shoved deep in his pockets to keep from storming over and demanding to know what you were saying about him. His lungs had burnt with the effort of staying put, his pulse a frantic drumbeat in his ears that drowned out all other sound.

He should have followed. Should have swallowed his pride, his fear, and just talked to you. But the moment passed, as moments do, and now the opportunity is gone.

When he finally cornered Robin, before he could even open his mouth, she gave him that look as she tilted her head in that particular Robin way, and he knew.

It's no use.

Robin Buckley would rather face certain execution than betray your trust, no matter how much he might beg.

And you?

You won't tell him anything at all.

Not anymore.

So he does what Steve Harrington does best when he's in over his head: he fakes a smile, cracks a joke no one laughs at, and pretends the way your avoidance feels like a thousand papercuts doesn't bother him at all.

By the time The Exterminator II ends, it’s past midnight, and the conversation turns to sleeping arrangements—because it’s dark, and you’ve all been drinking, and no one should be driving.

Robin, ever the martyr, offers to take the couch so Vickie can sleep in the guest room, already gathering spare pillows with a pointed glance in his direction.

His stomach drops.

He doesn’t even dare look at your expression.

Because the implication here is obvious.

You’ll sleep in his room.

Of course.

Of course he has to share a bed with you now, when everything is fractured and wrong, when every glance between you is a minefield.

Just hours ago, the idea of you in his bed would’ve sent his pulse into overdrive, would’ve had him imagining the warmth of your body against his, the way your breath might hitch if he pulled you close.

Now?

Now the thought is agony.

Because you’ll be lying beside him, close enough to touch, close enough to kiss again—but he won’t. He can’t. Not when you flinch at his accidental brushes, not when every word between you feels like walking on broken glass.

And he can’t refuse.

Not without making everything worse.

So he just nods, his jaw clenched tight, and tries not to think about how cruel it is—how close you’ll be tonight and yet how far you suddenly feel.

He tries to tell himself you’ve shared a bed before—you haven’t, not like this, never like this—not with the weight of everything pressing down between you. And yet here you are, in his bedroom, tugging one of his shirts from the drawer—his shirt, the fabric swallowing you whole, the collar slipping just enough to expose the curve of your shoulder.

The silence is deafening.

He clears his throat, voice rough. “I can sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be stupid,” you mutter, sitting stiffly on the left side of the bed. Your fingers comb through your hair—a nervous habit he’s memorised by now.

“We’re adults; we can handle it.” you add.

Handle it.

As if trying to handle it isn’t the whole fucking issue.

As if he hasn’t spent every single second since that kiss handling the urge to drag you back in.

He hesitates, jaw set tight, but then you look at him—and fuck.

There it is: that same quiet worry he feels in every nerve ending, the same unspoken what now?  hanging between you.

So he lies down, careful to leave space between you.

For a moment, neither of you moves.

And he’s all out of excuses to tell himself.

There’s no audience left to play this off for, no flimsy justification for the way his fingers twitch toward you, and no lie left to hide behind.

Then—

“I’m sorry, I—”  Your voice cracks, barely a whisper, like you’re trying to fold yourself into the quiet between you. And Christ, he’d rather carve his own heart out with a dull spoon than let his stupid, self-sabotaging fear leave you like this—shoulders hunched, lips trembling, like you’re bracing for a blow.

What do you mean you’re sorry?

Your breath hitches—a sharp, fractured sound—and he realises, too late, that your eyes are glistening; the sight punches through him like a kick to the gut.

“I didn’t want to mess this up,” you whisper, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt like you’re clinging to an anchor. “I mean. I just thought—” Your voice wavers, and Steve watches, transfixed, as a single tear escapes, tracing a slow, damning path down your cheek.

He stares at you, stunned.

His hand lifts before he can stop it—before his brain can catch up with the chaos roaring in his chest—and his thumb brushes the tear from your cheek. Your skin is warm, impossibly soft, and the contact sends a jolt through him, sharp and sweet.

“You didn’t mess up anything,” he murmurs, voice rough, like the words are being dragged out of him.  You freeze under his touch, eyes wide, lips parted, and for one heart-stopping second, he thinks you might pull away again—but then your lashes flutter shut, and you lean in, ever so slightly, your breath warm against his palm.

And finally—he’s done pretending.

His fingers slide into your hair, cradling the back of your head as he pulls you in, forehead resting against yours, his breath is warm, uneven, mingling with yours in the scant space between your lips—close enough to taste, but not close enough to consume. 

“I’ve always been yours,” he murmurs, and you search his face, eyes flickering over the curve of his mouth, the desperate crease between his brows, trying to find the lie—but you don’t find it. Another breath punches out of you, shaky and sharp, and your gaze shifts—unsure to decisive, hesitant to hungry—before you’re surging forward, hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him in with a desperation that mirrors his own.  Where the last time was slow—careful, testing—this is messy. Teeth and tongue and hands that can’t decide where to settle—his fingers dig into your hips, then skate up your sides, dragging your shirt along with them, exposing bare skin to the feverish heat between you. It’s violent in its desperation, a collision of pent-up want and the sheer, dizzying relief of finally, finally giving in. And, God, it’s even better than the first time.

No, wait—that’s not right.

It’s different.

The first kiss was discovery; this is destruction.

Like comparing the strike of a match to an entire forest burning, like the difference between dipping your toes in the ocean and being dragged under by the riptide.

He drags you closer, hands spanning your waist, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise (and fuck, the thought of marks on your skin—his marks—sends a jolt of heat straight to his dick). He pulls you into him with all the force he’s been holding back finally unleashed. For a second, that nagging voice of hesitation flickers in the back of his head—too much, too fast—as your lips leave his. His grip loosens, just slightly, giving you space to pull away.

But then you make a sound.

The most beautiful sound in the universe, probably. Better than any symphony, any song on the radio, better than anything he’s ever fucking heard—a soft, breathy moan, spilling from your lips like you can’t help it, like it’s been ripped out of you as he tugs you into his lap.  Your thighs bracket his hips, and the contact is electric. The friction is maddening, the way you press against him, already seeking more. His breath hitches, fingers tightening possessively on your waist as he grinds up against you, just once—just to hear you make that sound again.

And you do.

Louder.

And fuck, if this is only the beginning—if the simple act of his hands roaming your body, skimming the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, tears noises from you that already have him aching—then he’s sure you’re going to be the end of him.

But, God, what a way to go.

He wants to cover every inch of your skin with his touch, to map the places that make you gasp, the spots that make you shiver, and to learn exactly how to reduce you to the same desperate, unravelled mess he’s been for you all this time. He wants to find out how many times he can pull this kind of bliss from you before you’re writhing, before you’re begging—for more, for mercy, for him.

You find his pulse point, teeth grazing the frantic beat of his heart, and he’s ripped from his thoughts, reminded with dizzying clarity that this isn’t another fantasy. This is real. He anchors himself back to the moment, needing to show you his devotion, no longer hedonism, finally able to worship without fear. His fingers glide lower, flexing over every bit of skin—until they reach the wet heat already pooling between your thighs. A guttural groan tears from his throat—half at the sensation, half at the confirmation that you want this just as badly, that you’re just as far gone as he is.

Every fantasy, every what if  he’s ever tortured himself with—he’ll get to live them all.

In one fluid motion, he flips you over, your head landing against the pillow, your hair already sticking to your forehead, damp with sweat and the sheer tension coiling between you. You’ve never looked more beautiful—not in the soft morning light, not laughing at some stupid joke of his, not even in the hazy afterglow of his most desperate daydreams. This is the moment he’ll remember forever. The way your chest rises with each ragged breath, the way your lips part just slightly, like you’re already begging for his mouth on yours again. If he could freeze time, if he could live in one single second for the rest of his life, it would be this one.

He trails kisses down your body—slow, worshipful—mapping every dip and curve. The hollow of your throat. The valley between your breasts. The trembling plane of your stomach. He wants to take his time, wants to ruin you with patience, but you’re already tugging him back up, eyes heavy lidded but locked onto him like he’s the only thing in the world worth seeing.

Your fingers tangle in his hair—tugging—and when he slips one finger inside you, you clench around him so tight he sees stars. Christ.  Like your body was made for him, to take him, to want him. He can't remember how he ever breathed before this moment, before the staggering heat of you surrounding him.

As he presses deeper, your hand finds his aching length, stroking him in time with his movements until he has to break the kiss just to groan your name. He feels the vibration of it travel through your joined bodies when you guide him to your entrance, and who is he to deny you when you're like this—when you're pleading with your entire body, hips canting up against his, nails biting into his shoulders like you'll die if he doesn't give you what you need?

He's only human.

He pushes inside in one slow, devastating glide, his thumb now tracing quick, insistent circles over your clit. He's already teetering on the edge—from the way you take him so perfectly, like you've been waiting your whole life for this; from the silent gasp that parts your lips when he bottoms out; and from the goddamn way you're still looking at him, like he holds your entire universe in his hands.

It's intoxicating.

He doesn’t let up—couldn’t if he tried. Every nerve in his body is alight, wired on the way you clench around him, the way your nails dig crescent moons into his shoulders like you’re afraid he’ll disappear. But Steve isn’t going anywhere. Not when you’re like this—breathless, boneless, his—falling apart beneath him with every snap of his hips.

His pace turns punishing, each thrust carving your name into the space between your ribs, pulling another broken sound from your lips. And god, each one is sweeter than the last—he’s addicted. He wants to bottle them, wants to memorize the way you unravel for him, wants to live in this moment until it’s seared into his bones. The high whine when he angles his hips just right, hitting that spot inside you that makes your back arch off the bed. The choked-off moan when his thumb presses harder on your clit, circling with just the right mix of cruelty and devotion. The way his name sounds when it’s wrung from your throat like a prayer, ragged and reverent, like he’s the only thing holding you together.

He’s close—so fucking close—but he’ll be damned if he lets go first. Not when you’re trembling beneath him, not when your thighs are shaking, not when every gasp and whimper is a siren song pulling him deeper.

Until Robin's voice cuts through the haze:

"JESUS CHRIST—”

Her shriek could wake the dead.

Steve barely has time to yank the sheets up over your bodies before Robin whirls around, slapping a hand over her eyes like she's just stared directly into the sun.

“I knocked. Oh my God—" She's already out of the room again, the door slams shut behind her with a force that rattles the frame, her dramatic exit punctuated by a muffled, "Ugh, gross!" from the hallway. You burst into laughter beneath Steve, the sound bright and startled. His weight presses you deeper into the mattress as he groans, half-amused, half-exasperated. "She has the worst timing," he mutters, but there’s no real annoyance in it. Robin’s chaos is, after all, the reason the two of you are tangled together like this in the first place. (He’ll thank her later. Maybe. If he remembers anything beyond the way your thighs tighten around his hips.)

For now, though, his focus narrows to the way your laughter fades into breathless anticipation, lips still parted, eyes darkening as his fingers trace the curve of your waist. He drops his forehead to yours, grinning like an idiot—the kind of smile that used to be reserved for winning fights and stealing hearts, now softened into something just for you.

"You done laughing at me?" he teases, voice low, thumb brushing the hinge of your jaw.

You bite your lip, but the mirth still dances in your eyes. "Depends. Are you done pouting?"

Steve scoffs, but his mouth finds yours before he can protest, swallowing your next laugh and turning it into a gasp. He kisses you like he’s got something to prove—like every flick of his tongue, every nip of his teeth is rewriting the script of who the two of you used to be.